An  Original  Play 

in  Four  Acts  by 

Sydney  Rosenfeld 


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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HU  T 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
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This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
the  last  date  stamped  under  “Date  Due.”  If  not  on  hold  it 
may  be  renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

DATE 

DUE  RET' 

DATE 

DUE  RET‘ 

Children  of  Destiny 

A  Play  in  Four  Acts 

BY 

SYDNEY  ROSENFELD 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1910,  by 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 

This  play  is  fully  protected  by  the  copyright  law,  all  re- 
quirements^of  which  have  been  complied  with.  In  its  pres¬ 
ent  printed  form  it  is  dedicated  to  the  reading  public  only, 
and  no  performance  of  it  may  be  given  without  the  written 
permission  of  Mr.  Henry  B.  Harris,  owner  of  the  acting 
rights,  who  may  be  addressed  at  the  Hudson  Theater,  N.  Y. 

The  subjoined  is  an  extract  from  the  law  relating  to  copy¬ 
right. 

Sec.  4966.  Any  person  publicly  performing  or  represent¬ 
ing  any  dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which  a  copy¬ 
right  has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the  pro¬ 
prietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  or  his  heirs 
or  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  therefor,  such  dam¬ 
ages  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum  not  less  than 
$100.00  for  the  first  and  $50.00  for  every  subsequent  per¬ 
formance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be  just. 

If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation  be  willful 
and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall  be  guilty  of 
a  misdemeanor  and  upon  conviction  be  imprisoned  for  a 
period  not  exceeding  one  year. 


SPECIAL  NOTE. 

To  protect  the  British  Copyright,  the  first  public  performance  of 
this  play  was  given  at  the  Globe  Theatre,  London,  England,  on  the  Sev¬ 
enteenth  of  February,  1910. 


To  that  unusual  combination — a  manager  and  a  friend 

Mr.  Henry  B.  Harris, 
this  play  is  gratefully  inscribed  by 

The  Author. 


Characters.  [In  the  order  in  which  they  appear.] 
Mrs.  Richard  Hamlin. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Laura — her  daughter. 

Rose  Hamlin. 

Maid. 

The  Count  di  Varesi. 

Fred  Garvin. 

Walter  Hobart. 

V 

Edwin  Ford. 

Julius  Langhorn. 

Waiter. 


SCENES: 

Act  I.  Boudoir  of  Mrs.  Hamlin,  Washington,  D.  C. 
[One  year  elapses.] 

Act  II.  Cafe  des  Americains,  Nice,  France. 

Act  III.  “Rosamond’s  Bower,”  Monte  Carlo.  [Night  of 
the  same  day.] 

Act  IV.  Hobart’s  apartments  at  the  hotel  in  Monte 
Carlo.  [The  next  morning.] 


Children  of  Destiny 

ACT  I. 

SCENE .  The  boudoir  of  Mrs.  Hamlin,  Washington 
D.  C. 

DISCOVER ;  Mrs.  Hamlin,  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase, 
and  her  daughter  Laura. 

They  are  sipping  tea. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  how  long  do  you  expect  to  be  abroad? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

It  rests  largely  with  Laura. 

Laura. 

That’s  a  habit  mother  has  fallen  into.  She  always  says, 
“It  rests  largely  with  Laura,”  when  Laura  has  no  voice  in 
the  matter,  at  all. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Reprovingly.]  Now,  you  know  your  happiness  is  the 
first  consideration. 


Laura. 

That’s  very  dear  of  you,  mother,  but  my  happiness 


5 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


doesn’t  require  a  trip  abroad,  at  all.  I  should  be  quite 
happy  to  remain  at  home  in  Washington. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

We  won’t  go  over  that  ground  again.  [To  Mrs.  Ham¬ 
lin.]  We  are  to  meet  some  very  pleasant  acquaintances 
at  Nice,  and  we  purpose  doing  the  Riviera  together. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

How  delightful !  And  you  sail  on  Saturday  ? 


Yes. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Then  that  little  romance  of  Laura’s  has  not 
a  questioning  glance  at  Laura.] 


[With 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Oh,  Laura  has  her  own  ideas  of  her  career.  [Changing 
the  subject.]  It  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  you  to  feel  that 
your  daughter  has  got  beyond  the  stage  of  conjecture. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 


Yes,  it  is. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

And  has  the  date  been  set  yet,  for  her  marriage? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Some  time  in  the  early  autumn. 


Laura. 

[With  enthusiasm.]  Now  there’s  a  man  worth  losing 
one’s  heart  to.  Fred  Garvin  has  position — distinction — and, 

in  fact -  Oh !  Here  you  are ! 

[Enter  Rose.] 


6 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[Kisses  Laura  and  greets  the  others.]  I  am  sorry  to 
have  kept  you  waiting. 

Laura. 

We  were  talking  of  Fred  Garvin — you  were  just  in  time. 

Rose. 

[Bashfidly.]  Oh ! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Going  to  her  and  taking  her  hand.]  You  ought  to  be  a 
very  happy  girl. 

Rose. 

I  am.  Almost  too  happy. 

Laura. 

Can  one  be  too  happy? 

Rose. 

I  sometimes  think  my  nature  is  too  intense.  I  have 
such  floods  of  delight  over  little  things  that  I  can’t  be  nor¬ 
mal. 

Laura. 

[Laughingly.]  You  wouldn’t  call  Fred  Garvin  a  little 
thing  ? 

Rose. 

Hardly.  So  you  can  imagine  how  I  can  be  too  happy 
over  the  greater  ones.  I  am  wondering  whether  it  can  be 
right  for  any  one  to  be  so  completely  absorbed  in  another 
as  I  am  in  that  dear  boy. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Consolingly.]  Don’t  be  alarmed  about  that  symptom. 
I  have  heard  engaged  girls  talk  before. 


7 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  Rose  is  right,  to  a  certain  degree.  She  is  too  much 
of  an  extremist.  There  seems  to  be  no  middle  distance 
for  her.  She  is  always  either  way  up — or  way  down. 

Laura. 

[Affecting  wisdom.]  The  neurotic  temperament,  I  be¬ 
lieve  the  doctors  call  it. 

Rose. 

[With  a  smile.]  Aren’t  they  clever — these  doctors — to 
have  a  name  for  everything. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[To  Mrs.  Hamlin.]  I  hope  you  won’t  forget,  when 
the  happy  day  comes,  that  it  was  through  me  you  met  Fred 
Garvin. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Indeed  I  shall  not.  I  do  hope  you  will  be  back  in  time 
for  the  wedding. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

That  will  rest  largely  with - 

Laura. 

[Quickly.]  No,  it  won’t — I  mean  to  come  home  for  it. 

Rose. 

[Reminded.]  Why — sure  enough — you’re  going  abroad. 


On  Saturday. 


Laura. 


Rose. 

So  soon !  Then  you  will  miss  the  Embassy  Ball ! 


8 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

We’ve  had  all  the  social  functions  we  need  this  winter. 

Laura. 

And  besides,  we’ve  met  the  star  attraction  in  private — 
we  don’t  have  to  wait  over  for  him. 

Rose. 

The  “star”  attraction? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Laura  means  the  new  Italian  attache.  One  of  those 
handsome,  middle-aged,  mysterious  creatures,  who  is  set¬ 
ting  all  the  managing  mammas  agog  with  excitement. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Who  is  he? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

The  Count  [trying  to  think  of  his  name]  di — di - 

Laura. 

[Supplying  iV.]  Di  Varesi. 

[Mrs.  Hamlin  gives  an  involuntary  start.] 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Haven’t  you  met  him? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Almost  inaudibly.]  No. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

That’s  strange.  I  mentioned  your  name  to  him  casually, 
and  he  spoke  charmingly  of  you ;  as  though  you  were  old 
acquaintances.  But  one  can  never  tell  from  these  for¬ 
eigners. 


9 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Recovering  herself.]  The  name  sounds  familiar.  A 
number  of  years  ago — in  Rome — I  think  I  did  meet  a  di  Va- 
resi.  It  would  be  singular  if  it  were  the  same  man. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Lightly.]  It  is — no  doubt. 

Laura. 

[Affectionately  nestling  near  Rose.]  I  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully.  There  is  no  one  who  quite  fills  your  place 
with  me,  Rose.  You  are  really  the  most  sympathetic  crea¬ 
ture  I  ever  met — you  just  overflow  with  kindness. 

Rose. 

[Smiling.]  Not  always. 

Laura. 

Always.  Why,  everybody  loves  you.  Rose.  Even  those 
that  I  don’t  care  for  commend  themselves  to  me  for  their 
love  of  you.  There  is  something  about  you — I  don’t  quite 
know  how  to  put  it — so  much  deeper,  more  ardent,  than  the 
usual  American  girl.  Why,  when  I  think  I  shall  have  to 
manage  without  you  for  one  whole  year -  [Puts  hand¬ 

kerchief  to  her  eyes.]  Isn’t  it  silly  of  me ! 

Rose. 

It’s  your  own  sweet  nature  that  finds  the  goodness  in 
others. 

Laura. 

Fudge ! 

Rose. 

I  am  just  happy,  dear,  that’s  all.  I  have  so  much  happi¬ 
ness  that  some  of  it  must  overflow. 


TO 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTTNY. 


Laura. 

[With  comic  severity. ]  Well,  you  can  just  tell  Fred 
Garvin  from  me,  that  if  he  doesn’t  make  you  the  best  hus¬ 
band  that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  he’ll  have  me  in 
his  hair  before  he  can  turn  round.  [With  a  comic  after - 
thought.]  I  hope  he  doesn’t  wear  a  toupee. 

Rose. 

[Laughs.] 

Laura. 

And  tell  him,  too — he  wants  to  let  up  on  his  work.  He’s 
overdoing  it.  It’s  all  very  well  to  be  one  of  the  most  pros¬ 
perous  lawyers  in  the  District  of  Columbia,  but  he’s  get¬ 
ting  too  pale  for  a  fiance.  That’s  my  opinion. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Who  has  been  conversing  in  an  undertone  with  Mrs. 
Hamlin.]  Well,  Laura,  are  you  regulating  the  universe, 
as  usual  ?  It’s  time  we  were  going. 

Rose. 

Oh,  must  you  go  ? 

Laura. 

Oh,  well,  mother  has  made  out  a  list  of  her  conges.  I 
don’t  see  the  sense  of  paying  farewell  visits  to  people  who 
wouldn’t  miss  you  if  they  never  saw  you  again. 

[Telephone  bell  rings  in  an  adjoining  room.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Will  you  pardon  me?  [Goes  off  to  telephone.] 

Laura. 

You’ll  answer  my  letters,  won’t  you,  dear — I  mean  to 
write  to  you  every  week. 


ii 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Surely. 


Rose. 


Laura. 

And  don’t  forget  what  I  told  you  to  tell  Mr.  Fred  Gar¬ 
vin. 


Rose. 

[Laughing.]  No,  indeed! 

[Mrs.  Hamlin  returns  from  telephone.] 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Excuse  domestic  details — but  [to  Rose]  Mr.  Garvin  sends 
word  he  will  be  here  at  four  o’clock,  and  you  must  be  sure 
to  be  at  home. 

Rose. 

He’s  leaving  his  office  early. 

Laura. 

That’s  a  step  in  the  right  direction.  I  was  telling  Rose, 
Fred  was  getting  pale  from  overwork. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

He  says  [with  mock  gravity]  it’s  a  matter  of  business. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Laughing.]  We  know  these  matters  of  business  be¬ 
tween  sweethearts.  He  wishes  to  tell  his  devotion  in  a 
different  key. 

Laura. 

[With  a  sigh.]  Well,  good  bye!  [She  kisses  Mrs. 
Hamlin,  then  goes  to  Rose,  and  kisses  her  affectionately. 
Mrs.  Winfield-Chase  makes  her  adieux  to  Mrs.  Hamlin 
and  Rose.] 


12 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY, 

[Servant  ENTERS  with  a  card ,  and  goes  to  Mrs. 
Hamlin.] 

[The  visitors,  escorted  by  Rose,  leave  the  room.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Suppresses  an  exclamation  as  she  reads  the  name  on  the 
card.]  In  the  parlor? 

Servant. 

Yes. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

In  a  few  moments — up  here. 

Servant. 

Yes,  ma’am.  [EXIT.] 

[Mrs.  Hamlin,  quite  disturbed,  seems  irresolute — then 
looks  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  determines  to  improve 
her  appearance,  for  which  purpose  she  withdraws  a  mo¬ 
ment  into  the  adjoining  room.] 

[The  Count  di  Varesi  is  ushered  in  by  the  servant.  He 
is  a  handsome,  well-groomed  man  of  fifty.  He  speaks 
without  any  dialect,  but  with  a  slightly  foreign  intonation.] 

Count. 

Thank  you. 

[He  looks  about  the  place  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  then 
finds  a  photograph  of  Rose  on  the  mantelpiece,  which  he 
holds  up  and  regards  with  interest,  as  Rose  ENTERS 
gaily,  expecting  to  find  her  mother.] 

Rose. 

I  beg  your  pardon. 

[She  starts  to  go  into  her  mother's  room.  The  Count 
has  bowed  to  her,  mentally  comparing  her  zvith  the  photo - 


13 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


graph.  On  the  threshold  of  the  room  Mrs.  Hamlin  joins 
Rose,  and  returns  with  her  into  the  sitting  room.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

The  Count  di  Varesi !  [Greeting  him.] 

Count. 

[With  great  courtesy.]  Madame! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Permit  me  to  present  my  daughter,  Rose. 

Count. 

[Takes  Rose’s  hand,  and  holds  it.]  Your  daughter? 
Charmed!  [As  he  releases  her  hand.]  Your  mother  and 
I  are  old  friends. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Trying  to  he  at  ease.]  Yes — and  as  such  we  may  have 
many  confidences  to  exchange.  Rose — don’t  forget,  four 
o’clock. 

Rose. 

No,  mother.  [With  a  bow,  and  a  look  of  puzzled  inter¬ 
est,  she  goes  out  centre.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  to  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  visit, 
after  so  many  years?  [They  are  seated.] 

Count. 

Your  husband  is  still  living? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Yes — if  one  can  call  it  living.  The  doctors  are  constantly 
prescribing  new  climates  for  him.  He  is  now  in  Arizona. 


14 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 

They  give  me  little  hope.  At  his  time  of  life— ah— you 
see,  one  can  battle  against  everything  but  Time. 

Count. 

Time,  the  Conqueror.  And  yet,  Time  has  dealt  kindly 
with  you.  The  same  amber  light  in  the  hair— the  same 
liquid  fire  in  those  wonderful  eyes. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Protesting.]  Please - 


Count. 

Nature  has  been  very  gracious  to  reproduce  herself  in 
that  girl.  She,  too,  has  her  mother’s  charm.  I  noticed  this 

at  a  glance.  Ah,  there  is  some  happiness  in  recalling  the 
past,  after  all ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  much  misery. 

Count. 

_  More  happiness  than  misery.  At  least,  I  mean  to  in¬ 
sist  on  the  happiness.  That  is  why  I  have  come  here. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

To  insist— do  you  say?  You  still  cling  to  that  word? 

Count. 

I  wish  you  had  not  sent  Rose  away  so  soon.  I  should 
have  liked  to  study  her  a  moment  longer  at  close  range. 
Your  daughter !  The  desire  is  only  natural — eh  ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

My  daughter.  Yes. 

Count. 

Perhaps — the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought — I  should 


15 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


have  caught  a  glimpse  of  myself.  We  are  but  vain  crea¬ 
tures,  the  best  of  us — and  it  would  have  gladdened  my 
vanity  to  have  caught  even  one  flash  of  the  eye  that  I 
should  have  recognized  as  mine !  Ah — she  is  beautiful — 
our  daughter ! 

[Mrs.  Hamlin  rises  suddenly ,  and  flashes  an  angry  look 
upon  him.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  growing  intensity.]  What  does  this  mean?  It 
cannot  be  that,  after  all  these  years  of  silence,  you  have 
come  to  bring  home  to  me  the  folly  of  those  days  in  Rome. 

Count. 

[Calmly.]  Let  me  remind  you  that  I  wish  to  recall  only 
the  happiness  of  the  past. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Then  why  have  you  come? 

Count. 

All  in  good  time.  Let  me  indulge  myself  for  one  brief 
moment  in  the  luxury  of  retrospect.  You  will  credit  me 
with  some  forbearance,  possibly  a  little  heroism — in  hav¬ 
ing  kept  away  from  you  all  these  years — when  I  tell  you 
that  even  at  this  moment,  the  wonderful  joy  of  being  the 
father  of  that  girl  is  almost  overpowering  me. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  have  not  come  to  reveal  yourself  to  her? 

Count. 

[After  a  steady  look  into  her  eyes.]  No.  [She  gives  a 
sigh  of  relief.]  Nor  have  I  come  to  awaken  a  single  re¬ 
gret  in  your  heart  for  all  that  has  been. 


16 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

My  regrets  need  no  awakening.  They  have  been  my 
vigilant  sentinels  through  the  weary,  weary  years. 

Count. 

Come  now,  Isabelle — that  is  morbid.  You  are  a  happy 
mother,  a  distinguished  woman,  moving  in  the  sunlight  of 
fine  friends.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  your  nature  were  not 

broad  enough  to  hold  a  little  twilight  corner  in  peace _ _ 

sacred  to  a  hidden  memory. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  are  still  a  dreamer. 

Count. 

Yes — I  come  from  a  land  where  we  not  only  dream 
dreams;  we  live  them. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  this  is  a  practical,  work-a-day  world,  where  dreams 
vanish. 

Count. 

Not  so.  One  page  of  my  life  was  flooded  with  gold, 
and  to  that  page  I  have  ever  turned  and  returned.  I  have 
read  it  over  and  over  again,  under  the  same  glittering  stars, 
to  the  strains  of  the  same  music,  to  all  the  glory  of  the 
night  and  heaven.  I  have  never  forgotten  you,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  you. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Why  do  you  tell  me  this  now? 

Count. 

It  was  a  mockery  of  fate  that  you  were  married.  And 


17 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


in  a  loveless  union  with  a  man  many  years  older  than  your¬ 
self.  Love  comes  unbidden  and  takes  no  heed  of  circum¬ 
stance.  Maid,  wife,  or  widow,  I  should  have  loved  you 
still  the  same. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  the  sin ! 

Count. 

I  have  never  called  it  so.  You  chose  to  remain  in  your 
husband’s  house. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

It  was  my  duty. 

Count. 

There  again  we  differed.  But  you  did  remain,  because  in 
his  old  age  you  said  he  needed  you.  We  parted.  You  said 
you  would  forget.  I  should  never  hear  from  you  again. 
Well — you  kept  your  word,  but  I  did  hear  of  you — when 
Rose  was  born.  [With  great  elation .]  My  daughter!  The 
fever  to  come  and  claim  her  was  almost  stronger  than  I 
could  bear !  But  I  did  not  come !  The  death  of  my  father 
brought  me  into  large  possessions.  But  what  were  riches 
to  me,  feeling  as  I  did  that  they  should  be  shared  by  an¬ 
other.  When  the  appointment  in  the  embassy  came  to  me, 
I  accepted  it  eagerly.  I  determined  to  carry  out  a  plan  I 
had  long  formed  for  the  use  of  my  fortune.  This  very 
day  I  have  put  that  plan  into  execution — and  it  is  mainly 
to  tell  you  of  it  that  I  am  here. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  fear  this  may  be  another  act  of  folly  in  your  too  ro- 
mantic  life. 

Count. 

Listen,  and  you  shall  see  that  there  is  a  practical  side 


18 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


to  my  romance.  [After  a  slight  pause.]  I  wished  my 
fortune  to  go  to  your — to  our  daughter. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Impossible ! 

Count. 

It  did  seem  hard  to  contrive  at  first.  Of  course  at  my 
death  I  might  bequeath  it.  But,  in  the  first  place,  why 
should  I  wait?  In  the  next  place,  it  would  make  talk  if 
a  strange  Italian  nobleman  left  his  fortune  to  your  daugh¬ 
ter.  Scandal  is  too  easily  roused — even  if — looking  at  the 
thing  practically— there  might  not  be  a  contest  of  the  will. 
I  took  legal  advice.  I  consulted  the  most  prominent  law 
firm  in  Washington.  They  advised  me  to  avoid  complica¬ 
tions  by  giving  away  my  fortune  before  my  death.  I  have 
to-day  signed  a  deed  of  gift  making  Rose  Hamlin  the  sole 
beneficiary.  She  will  receive,  as  a  birthday  gift,  the  sum 
of  two  million  florins. 


Rose ! 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 


Count. 

It  was  all  very  simple. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  what  did  the  lawyers  say?  What  could  they  think? 
What  reason  did  you  give  for  wishing  to  do  this  thing? 


Count. 

I  was  not  called  upon  for  reasons.  But  even  if  I  had 
been — the  lawyer’s  office  and  the  confessional  have  one 
thing  in  common — the  sacredness  of  confidence. 


19 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  vague  misgiving.]  No — no — it  isn’t  right. 

Count. 

And  why?  Did  I  not  have  the  right  to  purchase  this 
happiness?  I  feel  that,  at  least,  is  owing  for  all  my  years 
of  forbearance. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Still  until  the  same  dread.]  What  have  you  done! 

Count. 

I  cannot  understand  your  tone  of  dread.  Surely  you  do 
not  fear  that  I  shall  ever  betray  the  secret ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No.  I  know  you  too  well  for  that.  The  betrayal  will 
never  come  from  you.  But  I  have  a  strange  premonition 
that  this  will  bring  no  good. 

Count. 

Nonsense.  [Lightly.]  I  know  those  premonitions  of 
old.  [Changing  the  subject.]  I  should  love  to  say  good 
bye  to  Rose. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Not  yet.  [Comes  back  to  the  subject.]  Who  were  the 
lawyers  ? 

Count. 

A  firm,  recommended  to  me,  by  the  way,  by  some  friends 
of  yours,  the  Winfield-Chases.  You  know  Mrs.  Winfield- 
Chase. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Of  course.  Of  course.  What  was  the  firm? 


20 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Hargraves. 


Count. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Did  you  consult  Mr.  Hargraves? 


Count. 

No.  He  handed  me  over  to  his  junior  partner,  who 
seemed  to  be  a  specialist  on  wills  and  bequests. 


Mr.  Fred  Garvin? 
You  know  him  ? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Count. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
[Seems  struck  dumb.] 


Count. 

[After  a  puzzled  silence.]  Why,  what  is  the  matter? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  self-control.]  Oh,  nothing.  You  must  go — you 
must  leave  me  to  work  out  this  problem  by  myself.  I 
feared  the  practical  side  of  your  romance.  My  worst  fears 
are  realized.  [Rising.]  We  will  talk  no  further  of  this 
now,  but  before  you  close  your  eyes  to-night,  pray — pray 
as  you  never  prayed  before,  that  no  harm  may  come  of 
this. 

Count. 

Won’t  you  explain? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No — in  a  week — in  a  month,  perhaps — there  may  be 
more  to  say,  though  if  your  prayers  are  heard  there  will 
not  be — but  until  then — good  bye. 


21 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Count. 

And  you  do  not  wish  me  to  wait  and  see - ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No — no -  [Extending  her  hand.]  Good  bye! 

Count. 

[Taking  her  hand,  and  kissing  it  with  deep  feeling .] 
Good  bye.  [As  he  goes  to  the  door  he  encounters  Rose 
entering.]  Good  bye,  Miss  Rose — or  perhaps — au  revoir. 
[He  speaks  in  a  gentle,  winning  tone,  and  holding  her  hand, 
gazes  deeply  at  her.] 

Rose. 

[Simply.]  Au  revoir.  [Releases  her  hand.] 

[He  bows  and  goes  off.] 

[Mrs.  Hamlin,  overcome  and  limp,  sits  broodingly,  as 
Rose  hurries  down  to  her.] 

Rose. 

[Gaily.]  Mother,  it’s  four  o’clock.  Do  you  think  I’d 
better  dress  for  a  motor  ride?  That’s  no  doubt  what  Fred 
is  coming  so  early  for. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No,  I  think  not. 


Rose. 

[With  concern.]  What  is  the  matter,  mother? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  am  not  very  well. 

Rose. 

What  has  happened? 


22 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Evasively.]  I  have  heard  bad  news  from  old  friends 
through  the  Count. 

Rose. 

He  might  have  spared  you  any  bad  news. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Not  everybody  is  so  considerate. 

Rose. 

Perhaps  I  might  lighten  the  burden  for  you. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[As  if  coming  to  a  sudden  resolve.)  Rose — sit  down — I 
want  to  speak  with  you. 

Rose. 

[Eagerly  seizing  a  footstool,  and  seating  herself  at  her 
mothers  feet.)  Yes,  mother. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  am  thinking  that  when  Mr.  Garvin  comes,  you'd  bet¬ 
ter  send  him  to  me. 

Rose. 

Yes?  Why? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Why  should  he  trouble  your  dear  head  with  business? 
I  am  a  little  disappointed  in  Mr.  Garvin  for  wishing  to  do 
so.  It  was  not  thoughtful  of  him. 

Rose. 

Oh,  I  wouldn’t  say  that. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  disapprove.  I  have 


23 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


noticed  on  several  occasions  that  he  shows  a  domineering 
way — a  sort  of  “possession”  in  his  manner  towards  you, 
that  strikes  me,  to  say  the  least,  as  premature. 

Rose. 

[Trying  to  smile  it  off.)  Why,  that’s  what  a  young  girl 
loves ! — that  is,  from  the  man  she  means  to  marry. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

He  sends  word  in  a  peremptory  way,  “I  shall  be  up  at 
four,”  as  if  he  were  giving  orders  to  his  valet. 

Rose. 

[Growing  distressed.)  I  never  heard  you  speak  like  that 
before. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  want  you  to  be  happy. 


Rose. 

Happy?  Mother!  I  could  not  imagine  any  happiness 
without  him. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  growing  alarm.)  Don’t  say  that! 

Rose. 

[Infected  by  her  alarm.)  Why  not,  mother? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No  one  has  the  right  to  make  her  life’s  happiness  abso¬ 
lutely  dependent  upon  another. 

Rose. 

Not  upon  her  future  husband? 


24 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  are  not  married  to  him.  If  my  soberer  judgment 
discovers  his  faults,  it  is  my  duty  to  point  them  out  to  you 
before  it  is  too  late. 

Rose. 

You  have  heard  something  to  his  discredit.  It’s  a  slan¬ 
der.  That  foreign  Count  has  said  something  to  prejudice 
you  against  him.  [In  a  tone  of  reproach .]  And  you  lis¬ 
tened  to  him.  [With  intense  elation .]  Why,  if  the  whole 
world  rose  up  against  him,  he  himself  would  be  his  own 
answer. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  are  too  emotional,  my  child — there  is  a  vein  of  medi¬ 
aeval  romance  in  your  nature  that  I  am  unable  to  acc - 

[She  stops  short  as  its  origin  flashes  through  her  mind, 
and  finishes  under  her  breath ]  that  surprises  me. 

Rose. 

Oh,  mother,  it  hurts  me  to  hear  you  say  that.  If  I  am 
ardent,  and  loving  and  passionate,  am  I  not  your  daugh¬ 
ter?  [With  her  arms  about  her  mother’s  neck.]  Haven’t 
you  given  me  the  nature  I  have?  Hasn’t  love  been  my 
birthright  ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Taking  her  in  her  arms.]  My  darling  Rose — I  only 
want  to  school  you,  as  I  would  school  myself,  against  a 
disappointment.  Now  answer  me  calmly.  What  if  you 
should  learn  that  Mr.  Garvin  is  not  all  that  he  should  be? 

Rose. 

That  is  not  possible.  * 


25 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Heaven  grant  that  what  I  feel  may  be  only  my  foolish 
fancy.  I  only  wished  to  probe  your  feelings,  so  that,  should 
the  unforeseen  occur,  you  could  meet  it  not  wholly  unpre¬ 
pared. 

Rose. 

[With  growing  intensity,  almost  to  the  point  of  violence.] 
I  should  be  wholly  unprepared.  No  misgiving — no  foolish 
fancy  could  alter  my  feelings.  You  must  understand  me, 
mother.  If  anything  came  between  Fred  and  me  I  should 
not  wish  to  live. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Aghast.]  Rose ! 

Rose. 

[Continuing,  in  a  torrent  of  emotion.]  I  am  not  like 
other  girls,  mother — I  sometimes  tremble  at  myself.  I  have 
thanked  God  that  the  current  of  my  life  has  flowed  as  it 
has,  towards  all  that  was  good  and  beautiful.  That  same 
current  might  have  turned  in  other  ways,  and  then  all  the 
ardor,  all  the  depth,  all  the  intensity,  might  mean  wreck 
and  desolation.  Oh,  I  know  myself,  and  I  am  afraid. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[After  a  moment  of  restless  anguish.]  Rose !  My  Rose ! 

Rose. 

I  don’t  know  what  Love  may  mean  to  others.  No  book 
knowledge  can  define  it  for  me.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  sup¬ 
pose  his  spirit  of  possession  might  come  nearer  explaining 
it  than  anything  else.  But,  mother — I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  own,  I  have  that  same  spirit  of  possession — it  rises  and 
rises  again — it  fills  my  veins,  it  bewilders  my  thoughts. 


26 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


For  good  or  for  evil— to  have  and  to  hold  a  passionate 
kinship  with  a  dear  one  seems  all  there  is  in  life ! 

[She  is  quite  overcome,  and  sinks  on  the  sofa,  burying 
her  head  in  her  hands.] 

[Mrs.  Hamlin  goes  to  her  and  stands  contemplatively 
over  her.] 

[Fred  Garvin,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand,  appears  at 
the  door.] 

Fred. 

I  took  the  liberty  of  coming  up. 

Rose. 

[At  the  sound  of  his  voice  quickly  recovers,  and  dashes 
towards  him,  all  trace  of  her  grief  vanished.]  Fred! 

[He  takes  her  in  his  arms.] 

Fred. 

Why,  you  are  not  dressed  for  our  spin.  I  thought  you 
would  take  it  for  granted  that  I  should  come  in  my  car. 

Rose. 

[Beaming.]  There,  mother  !  Didn’t  I  tell  you  !  I  shan’t 
be  a  moment!  [Runs  off  excitedly.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Quietly.]  But  you  said  you  wanted  to  see  her  on  busi¬ 
ness. 

Fred. 

[Lightly.]  What  of  it!  There  is  no  law  to  prevent  our 
talking  business  in  a  motor  car. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

It  s-eemed  a  little  odd  to  me  that  you  should  have  tele- 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


phoned  as  you  did,  and  left  your  office  so  early,  for  I  know 
how  busy  you  are. 

Fred. 

Oh,  a  man  may  indulge  himself,  once  in  a  while. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  a  little  relieved  at  your  light 
tone. 


Fred. 

You  were  not  alarmed,  were  you? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  was,  almost - 

Fred. 

What  business  could  that  little  girl  and  I  have  together, 
that  would  alarm  anybody? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Quite  so.  I  have  been  beset  with  misgivings  of  late.  I 
dare  say  my  doctor  can  prescribe  for  them. 


Fred. 

Misgivings  ?  What  about  ? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

If  you  will  lay  aside  your  hat  for  a  moment.  [He  does 
jo.]  Don’t  you  care  to  talk  over  the  matter,  such  as  it  is, 
with  me  before  you  speak  to  Rose? 

Fred. 

It  seems  hardly  worth  while. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Somehow,  that  doesn’t  ring  true. 


28 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 
Fred. 


No? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  don’t  think  you  would  have  made  this  special  appoint¬ 
ment  if  it  hadn’t  been  worth  while. 


Fred. 

Well,  what  do  you  imagine?  What  was' my  motive? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

What  was  it? 


Fred. 

[With  a  laugh.]  Which  of  us  is  being  cross-examined? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  calm  seriousness.]  I  may  have  done  an  unwise 
thing,  but  I  have  just  had  a  serious  talk  with  Rose. 


What  about? 


Fred. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Beckons  him  to  be  seated.]  I  wished  to  sound  her  feel¬ 
ings  for  you. 

Fred. 

Did  they  need  sounding? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Appealingly.]  I  beg  of  you,  don’t  assume  this  care¬ 
less  tone.  I  have  heard  things — strange  things — that  have 
disconcerted  me.  I  appeal  to  you  as  an  old  friend.  Give 
me  at  least  your  sympathetic  attention. 


Fred. 

[Honestly. ]  I  assure  you  of  that. 


29 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  had  a  visitor  this  afternoon.  An  old  friend  whom  I 
had  not  seen  in  twenty  years. 


Yes? 

Fred. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Do  you  not  divine  who  it  was  ? 


How  can  I? 

Fred. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Impatiently.] 

I  want  an  honest  answer. 

Fred. 

Well,  really,  Mrs.  Hamlin - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Did  you  not  have  a  visitor  this  morning,  who  repre¬ 
sented  himself  to  be  an  old  friend  of  ours? 


Of  yours ? 

Fred. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Of  mine. 

Well — yes. 

Fred. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

What  did  he  have  to  say  to  you? 

Fred. 

Now,  really,  is  it  not  straining  our  friendship  a  bit,  to 
ask  me  to  violate  the  sanctity  of  professional  confidence  ? 


30 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

b  These  are  mere  words,  Mr.  Garvin— for  if  my  premoni¬ 
tions  are  not  absolutely  groundless,  you  intend  to  violate  it. 


Fred. 

[A  little  resentful ]  What  do  you  mean? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Would  you  be  wanting  to  speak  with  Rose  if  that  visit 
had  not  taken  place? 


Fred. 

You  are  taking  too  much  for  granted. 


Answer  me. 

And  if  I  decline? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Fred. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  am  already  answered.  And  how  did  you  mean  to  com¬ 
municate  the  object  of  your  visit  to  my  daughter? 


Fred. 

How  much  of  what  took  place  do  you  know  ? 


All. 

And  does  Rose 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Fred. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

She  knows  nothing.  You  understand  how  deeply  I  am 
concerned  in  what  you  have  to  say  to  her. 

[ENTER  Rose,  ready  for  her  ride.] 


3i 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Rose. 

Well,  are  you  ready? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Not  yet.  Mr.  Garvin  and  I  are  having  a  talk.  I  will 
send  for  you. 

Rose. 

[Protesting.]  But  this  isn’t  fair.  Fred  belongs  to  me. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  authority.]  Go.  [As  Rose  reluctantly  moves 
away.]  You  may  take  off  your  coat  and  hat.  I  don’t  think 
you  will  need  them. 


Mother ! 
[Interceding.] 


Rose. 

Fred. 

Do  you  think  this  is  necessary? 


Rose. 

[Hurries  to  his  side ,  holds  his  hand  affectionately ,  with 
a  look  of  appeal.] 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  a  gesture  bids  her  leave.] 

Fred. 

[Concernedly  leads  her  to  the  door ,  and  dismisses  her 
tenderly.]  In  a  little  while.  [She  looks  questioningly 
from  one  to  the  other ,  and  goes  out  sadly.] 

Fred. 

It  seemed  unnecessary  to  give  her  this  pain. 


32 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Are  you  quite  sure  you  did  not  have  a  greater  in  store 
for  her? 

Fred. 

You  seem  determined  to  make  me  play  an  ungracious 
part. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

All  men  are  cowards.  They  work  along  the  line  of  least 
resistance.  Why  could  you  not  have  come  to  me  first? 

Fred. 

What  I  had  to  say  concerned  only  Rose. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Slightly  aghast.]  Surely  you  did  no  mean  to  tell  .*er 
about - 

Fred. 

About  what? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[After  a  moment's  embarrassment.]  What  you  may 
have  heard  of  me. 

Fred. 

If  I  had  heard  anything,  is  it  likely? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  a  slight  bitterness.]  Violation  of  confidence,  I 
suppose  ? 

Fred. 

Precisely.  [After  a  slight  pause,  during  which  he  is  evi¬ 
dently  making  up'  his  mind.]  Mrs.  Hamlin,  you  tell  me 
you  know  the  full  purport  of  a  certain  visit  to  my  office. 
Before  I  proceed — what  was  the  name  of  my  visitor? 


33 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

The  Count  di  Varesi. 

Fred. 

[Nods  his  head.]  Now  I  want  you  to  place  yourself  in 
my  position.  I  am  betrothed  to  your  daughter.  This 
client,  absolutely  unaware  of  my  relations  with  your  fam¬ 
ily,  makes  me  the  recipient,  little  by  little,  of  information, 
touching  upon  the  most  intimate  concerns  of  his  life,  and 
that  of  a  certain  woman,  whose  name,  of  course,  is  not 
mentioned.  Imagine  the  thought  that  flashes  through  my 
mind,  when  I  am  instructed  to  make,  in  my  client’s  name, 
the  gift  of  a  very  large  sum  of  money — to  Rose  Hamlin 
— your  daughter. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Quickly.]  You  asked  his  motive?  You  questioned 
him? 

Fred. 

I  did  not  need  to  question. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

He  betrayed  himself. 

Fred. 

No.  No  one  could  have  dealt  with  greater  delicacy  with 
so  difficult  a  task. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Then  how - 

Fred. 

But  remember.  He  was  my  client.  It  could  not  be  a 
case  of  betraying  himself.  He  charged  me  with  secrecy. 
Without  framing  a  single  compromising  question,  I  gath¬ 
ered,  in  a  professional  way,  all  that  I  needed  to  know. 
Facts  are  facts — even  when  they  are  unspoken. 


34 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  then  you  concluded  at  once  that - 

Fred. 

Don’t  ask  me  to  put  my  conclusions  into  words.  Imag¬ 
ine,  if  you  can,  my  feelings  as  a  man,  not  as  a  lawyer- 
after  he  had  gone.  When  the  duty  lay  before  me  of  call¬ 
ing  upon  Rose,  to  place  in  her  possession  this  bounteous 
gift  from  an  unknown  friend. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  should  have  come  to  me. 

Fred. 

Why?  To  have  given  you  needless  pain  and  embarrass¬ 
ment?  To  tell  you  all  that  I  knew— and  all  that  I  con¬ 
cluded?  If  you  had  not  questioned  me  as  you  have  done, 
do  you  think  you  would  ever  have  heard  from  me,  that - - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Then  what  would  you  have  told  Rose? 

Fred. 

No  more  than  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  know. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Perhaps  I  have  done  you  an  injustice.  Perhaps  I  have 
misinterpreted  your  object  in  seeking  this  speedy  visit  to 
Rose.  In  that  case,  I  ask  your  pardon.  In  my  great 
worry  and  excitement  I  feared  for  her  happiness.  Of 
course,  no  blame  can  attach  to  her.  It  could  not  affect  your 
feelings  for  her.  For  a  moment  I  dreaded  your  drive  with 
her  this  afternoon,  lest  you  should  betray  even  in  the 


35 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


slightest  degree  a  change  of  heart  towards  her.  [Slight 
pause.]  You  don’t  answer? 

Fred. 

What  answer  do  you  expect? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[With  a  return  of  all  her  previous  misgivings.]  You 
are  keeping  something  back  from  me. 

Fred. 

[With  an  almost  cynical  smile,  and  a  vain  gesture  of 
trying  to  answer.]  Well ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  did  mean  to  reveal  something  to  her.  It  was  as  I 
feared.  You  did  mean  to  wound  her.  What  would  you 
have  told  her? 

Fred. 

[Uncomfortably.]  There  are  a  hundred  ways  of  break¬ 
ing  off  an  engagement,  without - 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Dismayed.]  Breaking  off  an  engagement ! 
mean  that ! 


Fred. 

Why,  in  my  position - 


You  don’t 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

It  is  cowardly.  It  is  cruel.  It  will  break  her  heart! 

i 

Fred. 

[With  irritating  lightness.]  I  hope  not. 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  tell  you  it  will.  You  don’t  know  how  she  loves  you. 

Fred. 

It  will  be  a  painful  task. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

This  can’t  be.  It  must  not  be. 

Fred. 

I  don’t  want  to  add  to  your  distress.  It  is  an  irksome 
situation.  I  had  hoped  to  avoid  this  interview. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  let  Rose  face  her  misery  alone!  That  would  have 
been  brave  of  you. 

Fred. 

A  man  can’t  always  be  brave. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[  With  growing  intensity  and  betraying  fear  for  herself .] 
I  don’t  trust  you,  Mr.  Garvin.  You  and  your  cant  about 
the  violating  of  confidence.  When  Rose  demands  the  cause 
from  you,  you  will  tell  her. 

Fred. 

You  need  have  no  alarm  on  that  score,  I - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[As  before .]  I  don’t  trust  you.  If  you  are  cowardly 
enough  to  break  off  the  engagement  through  no  fault  of 
hers,  you  would  not  stop  at  that. 

Fred. 

There  are  some  duties  a  man  owes  to  himself  and  society. 


37 


CHILDREN'  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

To  society!  Faugh! 

Fred. 

Of  course  I  cannot  expect  you  to  hold  the  same  views  on 
that  subject  as  I  have. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  who  are  you — and  what  claims  do  you  possess,  that 
you  dare  take  this  tone  with  me? 

Fred. 

[With  great  cynicism.]  It  is  only  those  whose  claims 
on  society  are  beyond  cavil  who  can  afford  to  despise  it. 

Mrs.  FIamlin. 

You  shall  not  do  this  thing!  Do  you  understand  me! 
If  your  engagement  is  to  be  broken  off,  it  shall  be  broken 
off  by  me. 

.  Fred. 

As  you  choose. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  shall  call  in  Rose,  and  end  all  between  you. 

Fred. 

If  your  method  seems  less  harsh - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Harsh!  [With  a  look  of  contempt  at  him,  she  goes  to 
the  door  and  calls.]  Rose !  Rose ! 

Fred. 

What  are  you  going  to  say  to  her  ? 


38 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  shall  tell  her  that  you  are  not  worthy  to  be  her  hus¬ 
band. 

Fred. 

I  protest! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

And  it  is  the  truth.  You  are  absolutely  unworthy  of  her. 
And  she  shall  learn  it  from  my  lips. 

[ENTER  Rose.] 

Rose. 

Well,  are  you  all  through? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[In  excitement.}  A  little  while  ago,  I  told  you  that  I  had 
heard  things  about  Mr.  Garvin  that  made  me  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  your  marriage. 

Rose. 

And  I  wouldn’t  believe  them. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

I  have  given  Mr.  Garvin  a  chance  to  defend  himself.  He 
has  failed  to  do  so. 

Rose. 

[Going  to  him,  with  honest  conviction.}  I  hope  you  un¬ 
derstand  that  it  is  not  I  who  ask  you  for  a  defense.  [To 
Mrs.  Hamlin.]  Mother,  you  had  no  right  to  question  the 
man  I  love. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

You  are  a  foolish,  romantic  child.  I  know  a  mother’s 
duties. 

Rose. 

It  is  too  late  to  question  him  now.  When  I  told  him  I 


39 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


would  become  his  wife,  it  was  because  I  loved  him — for 
what  he  is — not  for  what  he  had  been,  or  might  become. 
[To  Fred.]  You  know  that  I  trust  you,  don’t  you — and 
that  nothing  can  make  any  difference  between  us. 


Yes,  Rose,  but 
But  what? 


Fred. 


Rose. 


Fred. 

I  can’t  ignore  your  mother’s  attitude — and  if  we  must 
part - 


Rose. 

[With  deepest  anguish.]  Part! 


Fred. 

I  must  try  to  bear  the  pain  of  it  as  best  I  may. 


Rose. 

Pain !  My  God !  Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  ? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Come,  Rose.  When  we  are  alone,  we  will  try  to  bear  it 
together. 

Rose. 

No — I  shall  not  go.  I  will  let  no  shadow  kill  the  happi¬ 
ness  of  our  lives.  [To  him.]  I  don’t  know  what  terrible 
lie  has  come  between  us,  but  tell  her,  Fred,  my  darling 
[clings  to  him]  that  it  is  a  lie.  You  can’t  be  unworthy. 

Fred. 

No — I  am  not  unworthy. 


40 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[Triumphing.]  I  knew  it,  mother! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  all  the  same  I  have  decided. 

Rose. 

[Flashing  upon  her  mother.]  How  can  you  decide, 
mother  ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Evasively.]  Fred  is  going  away. 

Rose. 

Where  is  he  going? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[As  before.]  Not  here — not  now.  Come. 

Rose. 

[To  her  mother — pleading.]  Oh,  leave  me  with  him — 
just  for  a  moment. 

Fred. 

[Going  to  Mrs.  Hamlin.]  Only  for  one  moment.  You 
need  not  fear.  It  shall  be  as  you  desire. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Going.]  I  shall  return  in  a  few  minutes.  [Clasping 
Rose  in  her  arms.]  My  darling — forgive  me  for  the  pain 
and  sorrow  of  it— but  it  has  to  be— it  has  to  be.  [She 
goes  out.] 

[Rose  is  about  to  speak.] 

Fred. 

[Immediately  plunging  into  the  subject ,  without  waiting 
for  Rose  to  speak]  [in  a  calm  tone.]  Just  a  moment,  Rose, 


41 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


before  we  lose  ourselves  in  feeling.  There  is  a  matter  of 
business  that  I  must  dispose  of  first — the  business  that 
brought  me  here. 

Rose. 

What  do  I  care  for  that? 


Fred. 

Just  one  moment,  dear;  listen  as  calmly  as  you  can. 
Your  birthday  will  occur  to-morrow.  I  am  the  custodian 
of  a  rich  present  for  you — a  deed  of  gift  has  been  pre¬ 
pared — 

Rose. 

[With  agonized  impatience .]  Why  do  you  speak  of  that 
now ? 

Fred. 

[Continuing  calmly.]  An  old  friend,  who  asks  to  be 
nameless,  has  given  you,  through  our  firm,  the  sum  of  two 
million  florins.  .  The  documents  are  now  preparing,  you 
will  be  in  possession  of  your  fortune  before  to-morrow 
night.  [Rose  has  been  staring  at  him.]  You  are  listening 
— you  understand,  do  you  not — I  want  all  this  clear  be¬ 
fore  we  part. 

Rose. 

But  we  are  not  going  to  part. 


Fred. 

We  are,  Rose. 

Rose. 

[Speaking  with  suffering.]  W-why ! 

Fred. 

Your  mother  has  told  you. 


42 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Rose. 

She  has  told  me  nothing. 

Fred. 

What  does  the  cause  matter,  since  it  must  be. 

Rose. 

Don’t  you  love  me? 

Fred. 

I  did  love  f seeing  her  tortured  expression ] — I  do  love 
you ;  but  something  has  come  between  us — that  is  difficult 
for  me  to  explain. 

Rose. 

I  know  the  fault  is  not  yours,  in  spite  of  what  mother 
says. 

Fred. 

I  appreciate  your  trust  in  me— I  am  trying  to  be  candid 
with  you— but  your  mother  has  made  it  hard.  I  cannot 
play  the  hero,  or  the  hypocrite.  Let  her  explain  it  to  you — 
when  I  am  gone — if  she  chooses  to  explain.  It  is  a  duty 
that  I  owe  to  myself — that’s  all.  Good  bye. 

Rose. 

[ Agonized.]  Don’t  go — not  yet — I  must  understand. 
[Trying  to  be  calm.]  The  business  that  brought  you  to¬ 
day — tell  me  about  that. 

Fred. 

I  have  told  you  already.  A  gift  to  you  of  two  million 
florins. 

Rose. 

By  whom? 


43 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Fred. 


A  stranger. 

Rose. 

Your  going  has  something  to  do  with  this  gift.  What  is 
the  mystery ;  who  is  the  stranger ;  what  is  he  to  me  ? 


Fred. 

All  this  is  for  your  mother  to  answer. 

ROSE; 

[As  the  truth  gradually  glimmers .]  Two  million  florins. 
Why  florins?  Since  the  visit  of  that  man  her  manner  has 
changed.  He  was  an  Italian.  Florins!  Fred,  has  all  that 
has  happened  come  through  that  man?  [He  doesn't  an¬ 
swer.]  Who  is  he?  What  is  he  to  me? 


Fred. 

What  does  it  matter? 

Rose. 

Matter!  Since  it  is  to  separate  us?  What  have  I  done? 
What  have  I  done  that  I  should  be  punished  like  this? 


Fred. 

You  have  done  nothing,  Rose,  even  if,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  you  must  bear  your  share  of  the  guilt. 


Rose. 


[Stunned.]  Guilt? 

Fred. 

At  least  that  is  what  the  world  would  call  it. 
make  the  laws  of  society,  we  only  obey  them. 


We  do  not 


Rose. 

That  Italian — who  is  he?  Who  is  he? 


44 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Fred. 

Don’t  ask  me,  Rose. 

Rose. 

You  must  tell  me!  I  must  know. 

Fred. 

He  is  your -  [Checking  himself,  he  walks  away  from 

her.) 

Rose. 

[Finishing  falteringly.)  Father!  [She  sinks  overcome 
on  the  seat  in  silence,  and  as  Fred  turns  away,  she  adds  in 
a  tone  of  deep  sorrow .]  And  that  is  why  you  are  leaving 
me? 

Fred. 

I  must.  Some  day  you  will  understand. 

Rose. 

I  shall  never  understand.  I  only  know  that  through  all 
the  pain  of  future  years  I  shall  be  asking  why  you  are 
leaving  me  now. 

Fred. 

Because  I  cannot  make  you  my  wife.  [She  looks  up  in 
mute  appeal .]  I  could  not  clear  the  stain  from  your  name 
by  marrying  you ;  I  would  only  besmirch  my  own. 

Rose. 

The  stain  upon  my  name !  Then  there  is  one - 

Fred. 

At  least — if  I  were  to  make  you  my  wife -  [He  hesi¬ 

tates  as  she  winces  under  his  words.) 

Rose. 

Then  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  your  wife? 


45 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Fred. 

I  didn’t  say  that — not  in  those  words — I  only  meant - 

Rose. 

Nor  any  man’s  wife.  [She  breaks  down  completely .] 

Fred. 

[Trying  vainly  to  comfort  her.\  It  is  not  your  fault, 
Rose — it  is  not  your  fault. 

[She  sobs  bitterly.] 

[ENTER  Mrs.  Hamlin.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Seeing  her  daughter’s  collapse,  and  going  to  her.]  My 
darling,  what  has  happened?  [To  Fred  fiercely.]  You 
have  not  kept  faith  with  me. 

Fred. 

[Irritated.]  Why  should  I  blacken  my  own  character? 
Why  should  I  defend  you ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Under  her  breath,  pointing  to  the  door.]  Go! 

Fred. 

[After  a  pause  of  hesitation,  leaves  abruptly.] 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Taking  her  in  her  arms.]  My  poor,  poor  girl — what 
has  he  told  you? 

Rose. 

[Finding  her  voice.]  What  does  it  matter? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Under  her  breath.]  The  coward!  I  never  trusted  him. 


46 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

Don’t  talk  like  that,  mother — he  was  all  I  had  in  the 
world. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

My  darling — you  will  understand  some  day — and  you 
will  learn  to  forgive  me ! 

Rose. 

[As  if  coming  out  of  a  trance  with  the  echo  of  her 
mother’s  last  words.]  Forgive  you? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

For  the  grief  that  I  have  caused  you— yes,  darling,  it  was 
I,  but  you  must  forgive  me — you  will  forgive  me. 

Rose. 

You  are  my  mother.  How  can  I  have  anything  to  for¬ 
give  you  ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  you  must  tell  me  now  that  you  do  forgive  me. 

Rose. 

[Trying  calmly  to  reason  it  out.]  What  have  I  to  for¬ 
give  ? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Embracing  her  passionately.]  More,  more  than  you 
know. 

Rose. 

He  left  me,  though  no  fault  of  mine.  Do  you  ask  me 
to  forgive  you  for  that? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Yes — yes -  But  you  don’t  say  it.  I  am  begging  you 

to  say  it.  You  don’t  say  it ! 


47 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

Forgive  you  for  breaking  my  heart?  [She  weeps  on  her 
mother's  shoulder,  then  recovers,  shaking  her  head  slowly, 
as  if  it  were  impossible .]  No — no - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Don’t  say  that  you  will  not  forgive  me.  Oh,  my  darling, 
through  all  my  years  of  suffering  you  have  been  the  one 
recompense  of  my  life. 

Rose. 

[In  a  hollow  voice.]  Something  has  changed  in  me — 
some  chord  has  snapped.  I  am  terrified.  Where  is  all  the 
love  that  has  been  in  my  heart  for  you? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Alarmed.]  You  do  not  hate  me? 

Rose. 

How  could  I  hate  you !  I  don’t  understand.  What  is 
this  bitterness  that  is  taking  possession  of  me?  Oh,  mother 
— what  does  it  mean? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Rose ! 

Rose. 

What  crime  have  I  committed  that  I  am  made  to  suffer 
like  this? 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  it  was  no  fault  of  yours -  He  told  you  it  was  no 

fault  of  yours. 

Rose. 

[Bitter  to  the  core.]  No  fault -of  mine!  Who  dares 
make  me  suffer  through  no  fault  of  mine? 


48 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Time  will  heal  all,  my  darling. 

Rose. 

No.  There  is  no  healing.  You  knew  what  was  going 
to  happen  when  you  spoke  to  me  of  giving  him  up.  You 
will  recall  my  answer.  If  anything  comes  between  us  I 
shall  not  care  to  live. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  you  did  not  mean  it! 

Rose. 

Yes,  I  meant  it  then — and  I  mean  it  now. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Rose — you  would  not  punish  me  like  this — you  would 
not  condemn  me  unheard. 


Rose. 

He  told  me  there  was  a  stain  upon  my  name — that  I  am 
not  fit  to  be  any  man’s  wife. 


The  coward ! 

He  was  right- 
can  live? 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Rose. 

Then  what  is  the  life  that  such  as  I 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 
[In  terror .]  Rose !  Rose  ! 


Rose. 

I  have  often  wondered  how  they  came  to  be  lost — these 
helpless  lives  cast  upon  the  world,  selling  their  beauty  in 
the  market  place.  They  had  lost  their  love;  they  had  lost 


49 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


their  souls ;  it  was  no  fault  of  theirs — it  was  no  fault  of 
theirs ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

But  you  must  not  speak  like  this — I  forbid  it ! 

Rose. 

Ha !  What  am  I  better  than  they !  Am  I  more  fit  than 
they  to  be  an  honest  man’s  wife?  Mother!  This  is  the 
end  !  This  is  the  end  ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

Don’t,  Rose — it  is  too  terrible!  [In  horror.] 

Rose. 

I  will  take  the  money  that  belongs  to  me.  Mine  in  pay¬ 
ment  of  my  share  of  the  guilt.  Mother,  do  you  under¬ 
stand  me?  I  am  going  away. 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Wrung  with  dismay.]  What  will  become  of  you? 

Rose. 

i 

Who  cares?  What  do  they  expect  of  such  as  I?  They 
shall  not  be  disappointed,  those  of  that  fine  world  to  which 
he  belongs !  They  write  in  a  clear  hand  the  doom  of  those 
whose  names  are  stained — through  no  fault  of  theirs !  I 
have  done  with  them,  I  have  done  with  them  all !  There  is 
but  one  task  in  life  before  me.  To  forget — to  forget ! 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Trying  to  interrupt.]  Not  me!  Not  me! 

Rose. 

[Continuing  in  a  torrent  of  feeling.]  Yes — and  to  be 
forgotten. 


50 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Hamlin. 

No — Rose — my  daughter! 

Rose. 

Yes,  forgotten.  And  you  will  be  glad  enough  to  forget 
me  when  I  have  gone  out  of  your  life,  out  of  your  world — 
when  I  have  joined  those  who  have  become  what  I  shall 
become - When  I  have  found  my  place  among - 

Mrs.  Hamlin. 

[Falling  on  her  knees  in  supplicating  anguish.]  Don’t 
say  it!  Don’t  say  it! 

Rose. 

[With  a  final  outcry  of  despair .]  Among  those!  Among 
those  ! 

[Dashes  out  in  great  emotion ,  leaving  her  mother  utterly 
overcome,  as  the  curtain  falls.] 

End  of  Act  I. 


51 


ACT  II. 

LAPSE  OF  ONE  YEAR. 

SCENE:  A  secluded  section  of  a  popular  restaurant  in 
the  American  colony  at  Nice,  France,  cut  off  by  shrubbery 
from  the  main  dining  room,  which  is  supposed  to  be  off  at 
the  back,  whence  the  sounds  of  an  orchestra  playing  are 
heard. 

[At  a  table  to  the  right  are  discovered  Walter  Hobart 
and  Edwin  Ford. 

[Hobart  is  scribbling  on  the  cheap  paper  which  profes¬ 
sional  writers  use,  which  is  piled  around  him,  and  he  scat¬ 
ters  sheets  as  fast  as  he  fills  them.]  [Ford,  in  a  brown 
study,  is  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  sipping  absinthe.] 

Hobart. 

[Apologetically,  but  writing  feverishly.]  Just  a  minute, 
old  man.  I  mustn’t  let  this  idea  get  away  from  me.  Can’t 
afford  it. 

Ford. 

[Indifferently.]  Don’t  mind  me. 

Hobart. 

[After  writing  furiously  for  a  spell.]  There!  [Gathers 
up  the  sheets  and  makes  a  pile  of  them.]  Now  I  can  be 


52 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


human  once  more — but  there’s  something  about  this  cafe 
that  whips  my  brain  into  action.  When  future  generations 
shall  discuss  the  personal  habits  of  that  great  writer,  Wal¬ 
ter  Hobart,  who  flourished — well,  we  won’t  say  flourished — 
existed — in  the  twentieth  century,  it  shall  be  observed  that 
his  most  fantastic  conceits  were  born  at  a  little  iron  table  at 
the  Cafe  des  Americains  at  Nice,  France,  usually  in  the 
early  afternoon,  after  a  meal  that  may  be  called  breakfast, 
or  lunch,  according  to  one’s  geography.  But  here  I  am, 
prattling  away  like  an  untrammeled  child  of  nature — when, 
after  all,  the  main  object  of  my  bringing  you  here  was  to 
rouse  you  out  of  yourself. 


Ford. 

[Listlessly.]  Thank  you.  [He  prepares  himself  another 
decoction  of  absinthe.] 

Hobart. 

[Continuing  lightly.]  But  you  decline  to  be  roused — ex¬ 
cept  so  far  as  continual  libations  of  that  vile  green  fluid  can 
rouse  you — and  that  is  depressing.  Brace  up,  old  man,  and 
be  gay.  If  you  can’t  be  gay,  be  as  gay  as  you  can. 

Ford. 

If  I  could  scribble  like  you,  perhaps  I  could  scribble  my¬ 
self  into  a  condition  of  gaiety  like  yours.  It  must  be  a 
great  relief  to  you  to  be  able  to  shed  your  gloom  on  sheets 
of  paper  like  that.  You  always  seem  so  much  brighter 
for  it. 

Hobart. 

Your  diagnosis  is  wrong.  The  gaiety  you  notice  is  only 
the  relief  in  having  got  the  stuff  out  of  my  system. 


53 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

But  to  be  able  to  express  one’s  pent-up  feelings  in  writ¬ 
ing!  It  is  a  great  privilege. 

Hobart. 

That’s  the  amateur  idea  of  it.  You  don’t  suppose  I 
write  because  I  have  pent-up  feelings  to  express.  Tut,  tut 
— likewise,  go  to !  I  write  because  I  get  paid  by  the  word 
— and  the  largest  portion  of  my  income  is  derived  from 
dodging  every  possible  feeling  with  a  sort  of  glib  fecundity. 

Ford. 

Don't  tell  me  you  don’t  feel  what  you  write.  I  have 
read  your  writings. 

Hobart. 

If  I  have  cheated  you  into  that  belief,  all  the  better. 
That’s  what  I  am  paid  for.  But  imagine  the  large  assort¬ 
ment  of  feelings  I  should  have  to  have  on  tap  to  exude  all 
the  different  things  I  put  on  paper.  Here  I  am — a  hireling, 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  an  itinerant  yachtsman — whose  one 
redeeming  quality  is  his  appreciation  of  my  versatility.  To¬ 
day,  I  am  employed  to  do  the  Riviera  for  his  paper,  in  my 
finest  Rabelaisian  style — next  week,  I  may  be  his  Sunday 
Editor  in  New  York.  Ha!  In  this  age  of  near-silk — near¬ 
rubber — and,  near-eggs — I  am  a  near-genius  ! 

Ford. 

[With  a  light  laugh,  takes  another  drink.] 

Hobart. 

I  am  glad  to  have  wrested  a  smile  from  you.  That’s  en¬ 
couraging.  Though  I  don’t  approve  of  these  frequent  visits 
to  the  absinthe  bottle.  [With  a  serious  change  of  manner.] 


54 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Now  look  here,  Ford,  you’re  an  unhappy  man.  I  have 
known  you  fairly  intimately  for  a  short  time.  I  know 
there  is  some  sorrow  tucked  away  in  your  inner  conscious¬ 
ness,  and  in  due  course  of  time  you  will  reveal  it  to  me. 
I  am  not  pressing  you  to  seek  that  relief  until  you  are 
ready,  but  to  try  to  drown  it  in  drink  is  a  damned  bad 
way. 

Ford. 

Pshaw !  Don’t  shift  the  conversation  from  you  to  me _ 

you  won’t  be  half  so  amusing. 

Hobart. 

Oh,  I  am  not  always  amusing.  I  have  a  side  that  borders 
on  the  lugubrious.  Didn’t  you  read  my  “Under  Life  at 
Monte  Carlo”?  That  was  warranted  to  give  the  doldrums 
to  Sunny  Jim. 

Ford. 

Yes,  I  did  read  it — and  I  didn’t  agree  with  all  your  con¬ 
clusions,  either.  Vice  is  not  all  black — your  gaming  table  is 
Monte  Carlo  may  solace  many  an  aching  heart,  and  your 
dazzling  beauties — your  light-o’-loves,  dwelling  in  seductive 
villas,  may  be  balm  to  bruised  spirits.  I  hate  these  fixed 
lines  of  demarcation  between  vice  and  virtue.  What  is 
virtue?  Where  do  we  find  it? 

Hobart. 

I’ll  suggest  that  as  one  of  the  prize  questions  for  a 
Sunday  issue. 

Ford. 

And  how  shall  we  know  when  we  have  found  it?  Come, 
my  brilliant  magazinist — define  it  to  me — in  a  word,  if  you 
can -  What  is  virtue? 


55 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Hobart. 

[After  a  slight  pause.]  Inexperience! 

Ford. 

Fine !  And  the  logical  deduction  is,  that  as  experience 
comes,  virtue  departs ! 

Hobart. 

Yes — that’s  a  kind  of  logic — but  whether  the  result  of 
keen  perception,  or  too  much  absinthe,  I  can’t  determine. 


Ford. 

And  even  this  much-abused  friend  of  mine  [indicating 
the  absinthe ]  suffers  from  a  ruined  reputation.  Heaven 
knows  he  has  done  more  to  alleviate  sorrow  than  many  a 
paid  nurse. 

Hobart. 

You  are  morbid  to-day.  Something  tells  me  you’re  on 
the  point  of  a  confession.  Well,  out  with  it — who  was 
she? 


Ford. 

You  conclude  then,  there  was  a  she. 


Hobart. 

That  question  seems  almost  childish. 

Ford. 

Yes,  there  was  a  she.  And  if  I  have  wiped  out  these 
imaginary  lines  between  vice  and  virtue,  it  is  because  of  her. 

Hobart. 

You  are  pitching  your  remarks  in  such  a  high  key  of 
rhetoric  that  I  am  not  sure  I  get  you.  You  were  in  love 
once.  You  were  jilted? 


56 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

Jilted!  Ha! 

Hobart. 

Well,  others  have  been.  And  they  have  become  better 
citizens  for  it.  They  didn’t  make  it  their  excuse  for  deify¬ 
ing  drink. 

Ford. 

But  it  destroyed  my  belief  in  virtue.  That  is  the  bitter 
part  of  it.  And  when  you  say  jilted — you  are  merely 
groping.  No,  I  was  not  jilted,  I  was  betrayed.  I  was 
humiliated.  It  turned  my  holiest  thoughts  of  love  to 
shame.  Do  you  begin  to  understand? 

Hobart. 

Go  on. 

Ford. 

But  why  should  I  tell  you  this?  You  are  a  professional 
writer.  What  does  a  man’s  heartache  mean  to  you,  except 
more  copy. 

Hobart. 

[With  sincerity,  as  he  takes  Ford’s  hand.]  Now,  under¬ 
stand  me,  Ford,  I  am  not  coercing  you  into  a  confession. 
If  you  make  one,  I  shall  value  and  respect  it.  It  may  make 
you  happier.  I  have  grown  fond  of  you  since  we  became 
friends  in  Paris,  and  I  have  tried  to  prove  a  good  com¬ 
panion  to  you,  though  I  have  not  bragged  about  it.  I  shall 
always  try  to  ring  true.  That’s  all  I  have  to  say  about  it. 
So  speak,  or  remain  silent,  as  you  will. 

Ford. 

[With  something  like  enthusiasm.]  Do  you  know,  Wal- 


57 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


ter,  one  grip  of  the  hand  from  a  friend  like  you,  is  worth 
all  the  blandishments  of  all  the  women  in  the  world. 

Hobart. 

I  won’t  say  that — but  we  won’t  dispute  about  it. 

Ford. 

A  year  ago  I  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  one  of  the 
prettiest  girls  in  New  York.  She  was  a  good  girl,  a  well- 
bred  girl,  a  highly  educated  girl — you  know  the  type.  Rich, 
pampered,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  If  there  ever  was  a 
girl  who  had  no  excuse  for  going  wrong,  it  was  she.  One 
of  those  open-eyed,  child-women  that  enchain  a  man’s  very 
soul  with  their  apparent  innocence.  I  loved  her.  The  wed¬ 
ding  day  was  fixed.  I  called  at  her  home  one  day,  and 
found  a  note.  I  have  never  seen  her  since.  That  inno¬ 
cence  was  all  a  sham !  She  had  given  herself,  for  no  ap¬ 
parent  reason,  into  the  arms  of  some  libertine,  who  appealed 
to  her,  as  I  evidently  did  not,  in  some  mysterious  sex  way, 
that  the  world  has  never  been  quite  able  to  define.  But  she 
was  innocent !  She  was  virtuous !  Do  you  wonder  now, 
why  I  resent  these  fixed  catalogues  of  vice  and  virtue !  In 
her  note  she  had  the  grace  to  admit  that  it  was  through  no 
fault  of  mine  that  she  threw  me  over.  As  if  that  miti¬ 
gated  the  suffering,  the  shame,  the  disgrace.  I  have  sought 
to  forget  her  in  travel  and  dissipation.  But  that  is  the 
mockery  of  it !  Drink  doesn’t  do  it !  The  promiscuous  pur¬ 
suit  of  other  women  doesn't  do  it — though,  I  still  persevere 
at  both.  And  when  I  read  your  learned  essays  that  are 
guide  posts  to  vice  and  virtue,  I  laugh  at  you,  for  vice  and 
virtue  are  interchangeable  terms,  and  have  only  such  mean¬ 
ing  as  we  choose  to  give  them.  [Slight  pause.] 


58 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Hobart. 

There  is  nothing  strange  in  your  story.  There  is  noth¬ 
ing  new— except  your  conclusions.  Your’s  happens  to  be 
the  man’s  side  of  it.  I  dare  say,  somewhere  in  the  world, 
there  is  the  exact  counterpart  of  it  on  the  woman’s  side. 
We  are  all  Children  of  Destiny.  Do  you  think  that  woman 
would  be  justified  in  maintaining  that  honor  among  all 
men  was  only  a  name,  because  of  her  one  unhappy  ex¬ 
perience  ? 

Ford. 

I  shouldn’t  blame  her. 

Hobart. 

This  goes  deeper  than  blame.  It  evokes  a  sorrow  that 
makes  kinship.  I  am  older  than  you,  Edwin,  and  I  have 
graduated  from  the  college  you  have  just  entered.  I  have 
gone  through  all  the  classes  that  have  intervened  since  my 
first  lesson  in  heartache.  You  have  taken  up  the  primary 
studies  of  absinthe  and  loose  women.  You  will  ripen  into 
a  proper  sense  of  proportion  some  day,  and  then  you  won’t 
mistake  the  gaming  table  for  a  nerve  tonic,  nor  a  secluded 
villa  for  a  sanitarium.  [In  a  lighter  tone.]  Let  me  read 
you  a  paragraph  I  have  just  written  in  my  special  article. 
[Finding  his  place.]  It  deals  directly  with  the  Gilded  Wom¬ 
en  of  the  Riviera.  [Reads.]  “And  here,  holding  high 
court,  with  a  train  of  her  own,  that  includes  crowned 
heads,  and  others  not  so  crowned,  we  find  one  more  beau¬ 
tiful  and  more  radiant  than  her  any  of  her  frail  sisters.” 
[Speaks.]  I  single  this  one  out  to  you  as  permitting  of 
no  argument  as  to  where  virtue  leaves  off,  and  vice  be¬ 
gins.  [Reads.]  “She  has  but  recently  invaded  the  charmed 
circle  of  Monte  Carlo.  Her  villa  is  one  of  the  most  de- 


59 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


lightfully  situated  on  the  dreamy  slope,  lapped  by  the  beau¬ 
tiful  blue  sea.  She  is  reputedly  an  American,  though  some 
of  us  detect  a  slightly  foreign  accent,  which,  however,  may 
be  assumed,  for  it  adds  to  her  witchery,  and  a  certain 
vague  mystery  that  surrounds  her.  From  whatever  source 
it  comes,  she  seems  well  supplied  with  money,  which  she 
spends  lavishly.  There  is  even  a  mystery  as  to  her  present 
favorite — she  has  not  identified  herself  with  any  particular 
one,  she  is  cultivating  a  sort  of  salon  for  her  worshippers — 
and  with  it  all  she  carries,  paradoxically  enough — a  certain 
air  that  seems  to  say :  T  am  what  I  am — and  if  you  ask  me 
to  feel  ashamed,  I  refuse.’  She  calls  herself  Rosamond — 
possibly  in  honor  of  Swinburne.  She  certainly  suggests  the 
amorous  metres  of  the  late  poet.”  [As  he  lays  down  his 
script ,  he  looks  up.] 

Ford. 

[Quietly.]  I  have  met  her. 

Hobart. 

So  have  I.  How  do  I  describe  her? 

Ford. 

Very  well,  except  that  you  take  her  vocation  for  granted. 

Hobart. 

[With  a  laugh.]  Don’t  you? 

Ford. 

I  don’t  want  to  place  myself  in  the  position  of  defend¬ 
ing  these  frail  sisters  as  you  call  them — but  I  have  ceased 
placing  them  in  a  class  by  themselves. 

Hobart. 

What  do  you  gain  by  that? 


60 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

A  greater  poet  than  you  has  said :  “Frailty,  thy  name  is 
woman.”  He  meant  “women/'  of  course. 

Hobart. 

If  he  did,  he  was  a  bad  grammarian. 

Ford. 

And  when  that  same  poet  moaned,  “Oh,  that  we  can  call 
these  delicate  creatures  ours,  and  not  their  appetites,”  he 
wasn’t  thinking  only  of  professional  frailty— if  I  may  coin 
the  phrase. 

Hobart. 

The  long  and  short  of  it,  Ford,  is  that  you  are  so  em¬ 
bittered  against  one  woman,  that  it  has  made  you  morbid 
and  unreal.  I  refuse  to  believe  that  your  true  self  does  not 
make  just  the  same  distinctions  that  I  do. 

Ford. 

I  can  only  pray  that  the  years  may  restore  the  faith  I 
lost. 

Hobart. 

And  until  then,  let  me  give  you  a  bit  of  calm,  cold¬ 
blooded  advice.  [After  a  slight  pause.]  Keep  clear  of  this 
mysterious  Rosamond. 

Ford. 

Why  do  you  single  her  out? 

Hobart. 

Shall  I  tell  you  honestly?  Because  I  have  seen  you  with 
her.  [Ford  indicates  surprise.]  I  have  seen  her  weaving 
her  toils  about  you.  I  know  the  danger. 


61 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

Danger !  Ha ! 

Hobart. 

Don’t  laugh.  She  is  more  gifted  in  her  craft  than  any 
woman  I  ever  knew.  She  has  power  to  incite,  that  is  per¬ 
fect  art.  She  knows  when  to  yield,  and  when  to  deny.  She 
knows  the  market  value  of  coldness  and  indifference,  and 
she  trades  on  these  qualities.  She  can  be  select  almost  to 
the  point  of  prudery,  and  she  can  hold  you — hold  you  till 
the  end  of  time !  And  her  price  is  high. 

Ford. 

What  do  you  know  of  that? 

Hobart. 

There  is  a  meaning  to  that  word  beyond  money ;  though 
even  in  that  regard  she  might  bankrupt  you.  Yes — even 
you — with  your  ample  fortune. 

Ford. 

I  don’t  think  you  need  worry  on  that  score. 

Hobart. 

And  there  is  a  greater  price — the  enslaving  of  your  man¬ 
hood — the  surrender  of  your  self-respect - 

Ford. 

Why,  you  are  speaking  with  real  feeling,  or  am  I  de¬ 
ceiving  myself  again?  Is  that  only  another  trick  of  your 
trade  ? 

Hobart. 

I  use  my  tricks  only  when  I  write.  I  could  tell  a  story 
of  my  own  if  I  chose — but  it  would  begin  and  end  differ¬ 
ently  from  yours.  It  would  start  with  the  degradation, 


62 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


from  which  I  have  emerged,  and  close  with  the  promise  of 
a  new  and  cleaner  life — with  the  girl  I  am  going  to  marry. 

Ford. 

You  are  going  to  marry?  This  is  news  to  me. 

Hobart. 

I  met  her  this  summer,  doing  the  Continent  with  her 
mother.  She  is  a  Washington  girl.  She  has  got  as  far  as 
Nice,  on  her  way  to  Monte  Carlo,  where  I  am  to  help  her 
open  her  eyes,  her  beautiful  young  eyes.  She  is  due  here 
in  a  little  while ;  when  she  comes,  I  will  present  you. 

Ford. 

Let  me  wish  you  joy — [Sighs] — if  there  is  such  a  thing. 

Hobart. 

[Going  to  the  door  of  the  “salle.”]  I  will  cast  an  eye 
about  the  main  hall.  She  may  have  arrived.  [Returning 
With  some  agitation.]  Ford,  that  woman  has  just  entered 
the  dining  room  with  that  simpering  old  roue  in  her  train. 

Ford. 

[With  a  laugh.]  Julius  Langhorn !  She  doesn’t  care  a 
button  for  him ! 

Hobart. 

Oh,  you  know  that,  do  you  ?  She  has  told  you  ? 

Ford. 

I  knew  she  was  coming  here,  and  with  him. 

Hobart. 

This  American  colony  of  ours  is  responsible  for  some 
weird  conceits!  Julius  Langhorn!  A  sprightly  young  lamb¬ 
kin,  about  ninety  in  the  shade,  I  should  think. 


63 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Ford. 

But  he  adores  youth  and  beauty.  That  keeps  him  young. 

Hobart. 

And  childish.  How  can  she  bother  with  that  old  fool? 


Ford. 

Oh,  she  will  get  rid  of  him  soon  enough! 


Hobart. 

Oh — you  know  that,  do  you  ? 


Ford. 

Oh,  yes. 

Hobart. 

Perhaps  she  expects  to  find  you  here? 


Ford. 


Perhaps. 

Hobart. 

[Heaves  a  sigh,  and  makes  a  gesture  of  despair.] 
[ENTER  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase,  followed  by  Laura. 
Laura  hangs  back  and  looks  off.] 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Oh,  here  you  are !  Laura  said  you  would  be  in  the  most 
secluded  spot. 

Hobart. 

Yes,  you  see  we  are  cut  off  here  by  the  shrubbery — and 
we  escape  the  noise  and  glitter.  Here  is  where  we  invite 
our  soul.  Will  you  permit  me  ?  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase — Mr. 
Edwin  Ford. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Extending  her  hand.]  I  am  happy  to  meet  you.  [Call- 


64 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


ing  to  her  daughter.]  Laura !  What  ails  you,  my  dear ! 
You  haven’t  greeted  Walter.  [Laura  does  so,  abstracted¬ 
ly.]  And  this  is  Walter’s  friend,  Mr.  Ford. 

Laura. 

How  do  you  do?  [Bows.] 

Hobart. 

What  is  the  matter?  You  seem  abstracted! 

Laura. 

I  saw  a  face  just  now  that  haunts  me. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

She  is  forever  seeing  faces  that  haunt  her.  We  couldn’t 
go  anywhere  on  the  Continent  without  everybody,  from 
the  concierge  of  the  hotel,  to  the  soldier  in  the  sentry  box 
reminding  her  of  some  one  else.  She  even  took  the  Em¬ 
peror  Francis  Joseph  for  Doctor  Cook! 

[Ford  drifts  off  the  scene.] 

Hobart. 

What  face  is  it  this  time? 

Laura. 

Who  is  that  woman — dressed  so  strikingly,  with  a  cer¬ 
tain  Italian  air? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Now,  Laura — what  do  you  care  to  know  about  that  class 
of  woman  for? 

Laura. 

What  do  you  know  of  her  class,  mother  ? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Don’t  snap  me  up,  Laura — it  is  a  pretty  safe  conclusion 


65 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


that  any  of  these  over-gowned  women  circulating  about 
places  like  this  with  eccentric  escorts,  belong  to  a  class. 

Laura. 

Her  eccentric  escort  happens  to  be  your  particular  friend, 
Mr.  Langhorn. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Annoyed.]  The  idea !  [Appealing  to  Hobart.]  Now, 
you  have  experience,  and  even  more  than  ordinary  sense. 
[He  bouts.]  What  am  I  to  do  with  a  man  with  so  little  dis¬ 
crimination,  that  he  can  follow  in  my  train  one  moment, 
and  the  next  be  dangling  after — well — after  such  as  that? 

Hobart. 

[Amused.]  That’s  cosmopolitan  laxity. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Cosmopolitan  impudence,  I  call  it!  And  we  are  to  be 
his  guests  here  for  lunch.  I  shall  talk  plainly  with  Mr. 
Langhorn.  I  make  all  allowance  for  his  over-done  genial¬ 
ity.  He  must  beam.  He  can’t  help  himself.  But  I  can’t 
have  him  beaming  all  over  the  place  when  I  am  around ;  it 
hurts  my  pride,  and  it  rather  impairs  my  social  standing. 

Hobart. 

[With  a  laugh.]  You  are  quite  right. 

Laura. 

[To  Hobart.] 

But  all  this  time,  you  are  leaving  my  question  unan¬ 
swered?  Who  is  that  woman? 

Hobart. 

[Seriously  to  her.]  Why  do  you  wish  to  know? 


66 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Laura. 

I  know  her!  [Rising  and  facing  her  mother.]  I  tell  you, 
mother,  it  is  Rose  Hamlin ! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Quite  agitated.]  Why,  Laura,  this  is  preposterous.  [Ex¬ 
plaining  hurriedly  to  Hobart.]  The  daughter  of  one  of  my 
dearest  friends!  [To  Laura.]  I  don’t  see  how  you  dare 
imagine  such  a  thing.  That  simple,  innocent  girl — and  this 
notorious  woman ! 


Laura. 

Who  knows  by  what  road  she  came  from  then  to  nowf 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

You  are  carrying  your  vagaries  too  far. 

Laura. 

Why  has  she  not  written  me  in  all  these  months? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Ci-iase. 

You  know  she  left  Washington  and  went  to  Arizona 
with  her  mother  to  join  her  father. 

Laura. 

That’s  what  her  mother  wrote  you. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Yes. 

Laura. 

And  what  about  her  marriage  that  was  to  have  taken 
place  within  the  year?  We  haven’t  even  received  our  in¬ 
vitation. 


67 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Even  so,  must  you  jump  at  the  most  unreasonable  and 
illogical  conclusion? 

Laura. 

You  cannot  argue  down  that  face,  mother.  [Turning  to 
Hobart.]  Walter,  who  is  she? 

Hobart. 

I  know  nothing  of  her  antecedents,  and  who  she  is  mat¬ 
ters  less  now  than  what  she  is.  And  for  that  reason,  my 
dear,  we  will  leave  her  out  of  our  conversation.  [They 
continue  in  an  undertone.] 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Seeing  the  entering  Langhorn,  in  a  high  note  of  agi¬ 
tation.]  Ah,  there  you  are! 

[ENTER  Langhorn.] 

[He  is  a  very  young,  very  old  man,  with  white  curly  hair, 
a  florid  face,  and  tzmnkling  feet.  He  chirps  his  remarks, 
Hits  in  his  movements,  and  has  an  infectious  chuckle.] 

Langhorn. 

My  dear,  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase.  Here  you  are 
— here  you  are — here  you  are  ! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

And  don’t  you  think  it’s  about  time  for  you  to  report? 

Langhorn. 

High  time,  indeed — that’s  why  I’m  reporting.  This  is 
the  table  Eve  secured.  Secluded — eh?  Far  from  the  mad¬ 
ding  crowd.  What?  [Goes  to  it.] 


68 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Far  from  ~ny  waiter,  I  should  say. 

Langhorn. 

Fve  attended  to  that.  Lunch  is  ordered.  Hardly  a 
lunch.  Just  a  bite.  You  know — one  of  my  tasty  bites. 
Trust  your  Julius  for  that ! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

My  Julius,  indeed !  I’ll  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  on 

that  subject  in  a  moment.  In  the  meanwhile -  [Calling 

over  to  Hobart.]  Mr.  Hobart,  I  want  to  present  Mr. 

Langhorn - He  doesn’t  deserve  it — but  I  can’t  very  well 

help  myself. 

Langhorn. 

[Twinkles  over  to  him  and  grasps  him  by  the  hand.] 
Delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Hobart.  Very,  very,  very! 
Heard  of  you  ever  so  many  times — ever  so  many  nice 
things.  It  pleases  her  ladyship  [with  a  comic  guilty  look 
at  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase.]  to  be  bitter  in  her  present 
mood  toward  me — but  I’m  an  old  and  devoted  slave  and 
admirer,  and  as  such,  am  entitled  to  some  little  recogni¬ 
tion.  Eh?  [Twinkles  over  to  her.]  Say  something  pleas¬ 
ant!  [Twinkles  back  to  Hobart.]  I  have  ordered  for 
four — four — let  me  see,  that’s  right,  isn’t  it?  [Counting 
noses.]  Though,  if  appreciation  could  be  expressed  in  fig¬ 
ures,  I  should  have  made  it  fourteen.  [Indicating.]  One, 
two,  three,  us — and  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase  the  other  eleven. 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

I  wish,  Mr.  Langhorn,  you  wouldn’t  flutter  so  much, 
you  make  me  nervous. 


69 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Langhorn. 

Must  flutter — can’t  help  it.  I  was  born  fluttering!  Ah, 
there  you  are!  [This  to  a  waiter,  who  enters  zvith  lunch¬ 
eon,  which  is  laid  on  table .]  Shall  we  be  seated?  [Indi¬ 
cates  the  places  of  the  four.] 


Hobart. 


Laura. 


Langhorn. 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 


[The  waiter  serves  the  luncheon,  making  the  necessary 
exits  and  entrances.  At  the  conclusion  Langhorn  signs  bill 
for  the  meal.  In  the  meanwhile  Laura  and  Hobart  be¬ 
come  absorbed  in  each  other  as  if  continuing  silently  a 
previous  argument,  during  which  the  other  pair  enjoy  their 
luncheon,  zvhich  they  diversify  zvith  the  following  conver¬ 
sation,  to  distant  strains  of  lively  music.] 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Now,  let  me  hear  your  explanation — and,  I  hope,  your 
apology. 

Langhorn. 

Apology?  Oh,  you  mean — what  do  you  mean? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Is  it  necessary,  in  order  that  you  may  keep  up  your  high¬ 
ly  strung  cosmopolitan  air,  that  you  should  widen  the  cir- 


70 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


cle  of  your  acquaintance,  until  it  gets  beyond  the  border 
line  of  respectability? 

Langhorn. 

Oh,  I  see!  You  mean — what  do  you  mean? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Hopelessly.]  You  certainly  have  the  gift  of  seeming 
artless. 

Langhorn. 

Seeming !  I  am  artless  !  I  am  a  child  !  I  do  no  wrong, 
because  I  see  no  wrong! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Then  what  do  I  want  you  to  apologize  for? 

Langhorn. 

That’s  what  I  should  like  to  know. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[Severely.]  For  showing  so  little  tact,  not  to  use  a 
harsher  word — as  to  make  me  share  your  attentions  with 
questionable  characters. 

Langhorn. 

Questionable  characters? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

You  were  spending  your  time  with  one  of  them,  just  im¬ 
mediately  before  joining  me. 

Langhorn. 

I  don’t  know  what  you  call  spending  your  time.  I  am 
on  nodding  terms  with  all  classes  and  conditions  of  men, 
not  to  say  women.  They  say  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king — 
and  I  suppose  the  reverse  is  equally  true. 


71 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Mrs.  Win fi eld-Chase. 

As  you  are  neither  king  nor  cat,  I  don’t  respond  to  your 
argument. 

Langhorn. 

Always  epigrammatic!  I  have  always  maintained  it — 1 
you  have  a  saliency  that  borders  on  the  sublime!  You  are 
in  brief — by  Jove,  you  are — you  know  you  are ! 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

I  am  very  sorry  you  were  compelled  to  give  up  your  at¬ 
tractive  tete-a-tete  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  us. 

Langhorn. 

Don’t  shrivel  my  sensitive  nature  with  needless  re¬ 
proaches.  Everybody  makes  allowances  for  Julius.  He 
can  flit  from  flower  to  flower,  and  leave  no  more  harm  in 
his  wake  than  so  much  traveling  sunshine.  Don’t  frown 
on  me,  Miriam — the  time  has  come  when  I  must  call  you 
Miriam — I  can  stand  anything  but  your  frown.  The  world 
grows  gray  when  Miriam  frowns,  and  I  lose  my  youth. 
And  what  would  I  be  without  my  youth !  I  was  seen  in 
company  with — well,  with  that  baffling  beauty — but  only 
for  a  moment.  She  seemed  lonesome.  She  seemed  looking 
for  somebody  she  didn’t  find.  And  I  went  up  to  her 
and  said:  “You  are  not  looking  for  me,  are  you?” 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

The  impertinence ! 

Langhorn. 

You  see,  I  had  met  her  before.  Not  met  her  exactly. 
Just  been  introduced — no,  not  exactly  that,  either.  Any¬ 
how,  I  knew  who  she  was,  and  she  knew  that  I  knew,  and 


72 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


when  I  said:  “You  are  not  looking  for  me?"  she  smiled, 
and  answered :  “I  didn’t  know  that  I  was.”  Now  that 
struck  me  as  rather  clever.  She  didn’t  know  that  she  was. 
Maybe  she  was,  and  didn’t  know  it.  Ha !  Ha !  And  I  was 
prepared  to  argue  it  out  with  her,  when  the  other  one  ar¬ 
rives. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Which  other  one  ? 

Langhorn. 

The  young  man  she  evidently  was  looking  for.  [By 
this  time  the  others  have  become  interested.]  For  she 
joined  him,  and  they  strolled  off— and  I — [sheepishly]  — 
came  here. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

It  was  very  good  of  you. 

Hobart. 

What  was  the  other  young  man  like? 

Langhorn. 

Other  young,  is  good!  Ha!  Ha!  Friend  of  yours?  At 
least,  I  suppose  he  was,  for  the  first  thing  she  said  to  him 
was,  “How  did  you  leave  our  friend  Hobart?’’ 

Laura. 

Then  she  knows  you? 

Hobart. 

Yes _ and  no -  [Stops  short  and  changes  the  subject.] 

If  we  are  to  catch  that  five  o’clock  train,  we  had  better  be 

starting. 

Langhorn. 

Don’t  you  want  me  to  motor  you  over? 


73 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Laura  and  Mr.  Hobart  have  arranged  to  go  by  train. 

Langhorn. 

But  that  needn’t  prevent  our - 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

[  With  fine  irony.]  I  don’t  think  I  care  to  jeopardize  my 
reputation  by  being  seen  alone  with  you  all  that  way. 

Langhorn. 

Now,  my  dear — don’t  be  cruel.  Bear  and  forbear.  Think 
of  the  Julius  that  is  all  yours — the  Julius  as  you  want  him 
to  be — for  he  is  many  kinds  of  a  Julius,  and  when  you’ve 
settled  on  just  what  kind  of  a  Julius  you  want,  set  your 
alarm  clock,  and  he’ll  ring  just  when,  where,  and  how  you 
want  him. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

What  do  you  think,  Laura? 

Langhorn. 

[Twinkles  over  to  her.]  Say  the  right  thing,  Laura! 
[Twinkles  back  to  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase.]  She  says,  “Of 
course!”  Don’t  you,  Laura? 

Laura. 

[With  a  smile.]  I  think  he’s  too  young,  mother,  to  be 
left  alone. 

Langhorn. 

Capital !  I’m  the  youngest  thing  you  ever  heard  of — 
and  getting  younger  all  the  time. 

[Takes  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase’s  arm ,  and  leaves  with 
her.] 


74 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Hobart. 

And  now,  shall  we  follow  them? 

Laura. 

It’s  a  wonderful  feeling,  going  to  Monte  Carlo  for  the 
first  time.  And  to  think  that  we  are  ending  it  there !  It’s 
like  playing  with  fire — isn’t  it?  Well  [with  a  sigh  of  satis¬ 
faction],  it’s  a  comfort  to  know  that  I  shall  be  sheltered. 
[Nestles  closely  to  him.] 

[Rose  Hamlin’s  laugh  is  heard  off.] 

Laura. 

[Releasing  herself  from  Hobart — with  agitation.]  I 
know  that  laugh. 

Hobart. 

[With  concern.]  She  is  coming  here — that  Rosamond 
woman.  If  we  go  out  at  this  side  door  we  shall  avoid  her. 


Laura. 

[With  quick  determination.]  I  don’t  want  to  avoid  her. 


Hobart. 

What  do  you  want  to  do? 


Laura. 


Speak  with  her. 

What  for? 

Identify  her.  I  know 


Hobart. 

Laura. 

I  can’t  be  mistaken. 


Hobart. 

Even  if  you  are  not — what  then? 


75 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Laura. 

Don’t  ask  me  that.  There’s  something  in  my  heart  that’s 
calling  me  to  her. 

Hobart. 

[Severely.]  I  don’t  wish  you  to  stay.  I  don’t  wish  you 
to  speak  to  her. 

Laura. 

Don’t  say  that,  Walter. 


Hobart. 

[As  before.]  Understand  me,  Laura,  I  know  you  will 
not  set  my  wishes  at  naught.  Whoever  this  woman  may 
prove  to  be,  you  and  she  can  have  nothing  in  common. 
Promise  me  that. 

Laura. 

[Waves  her  hand  impatiently,  too  much  absorbed  in  the 
approach  of  Rose.] 

[Hobart  stands  by  the  door  waiting,  as  Rose  Hamlin, 
with  the  outward  semblance  of  an  emblazoned  demi-mon- 
dair.e,  a  complete  contrast  to  the  girl  of  the  first  act,  laugh¬ 
ingly  sweeps  into  the  room  from  the  other  side.  Ford 
stands  in  the  doorway,  through  which  she  has  just  entered.] 

[Laura  goes  up  to  her,  extending  her  hand.] 

Laura. 

Rose ! 

Rose. 

[Stops  consciously  for  a  brief  moment,  then  turns  away, 
trying  to  assume  a  light  indifference,  with  Ford,  who  comes 
down  to  her.  She  has  shown  in  that  one  brief  moment 
with  Laura  all  that  she  knows  of  self-control  in  avoiding 
a  revelation.] 


76 


1 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Laura. 

[Falteringly.]  You  do  not  know  me? 

[Hobart  goes  down  shelteringly,  and  takes  her  up.] 

Hobart. 

Thank  Heaven,  for  that.  [Laura  buries  her  head  on  his 
shoulder.  He  goes  out  with  her.] 

[The  music  is  heard  off,  at  intervals,  playing  the  inci¬ 
dental  melody:  “> Silent  Stars  of  Night.”] 

Ford. 

That  was  strange,  wasn’t  it? 

Rose. 

[Assuming  lightness.]  Strange?  Not  at  all! 

Ford. 

She  thought  she  knew  you. 

Rose. 

That  happens  to  me  all  the  time.  There  must  be  some¬ 
thing  very  ordinary  about  me.  I  am  constantly  reminding 
people  of  their  absent  friends.  [Waiter  brings  on  two 
glasses  and  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  cooler,  which  he 
places  on  table.] 

Ford. 

[Going  for  the  wine.]  Well,  let’s  drink  to  the  absent 
friends. 

Rose. 

You  have  evidently  exhausted  your  invention  in  finding 
motives  for  drinking. 

Ford. 

That  is  life.  We  are  always  finding  motives  for  things 


77 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


and  people  that  require  no  motives  at  all.  [Handing  her  a 
glass.]  Is  there  a  more  bootless  pursuit  in  life,  than  try¬ 
ing  to  find  motives  for  people?  The  days  and  nights  I 
have  wasted  on  it ! 

Rose. 

Beginning  with  the  motive  of  life,  itself.  [She  sighs.] 

Ford. 

Thank  God,  Fve  gotten  beyond  that  point.  Life  has  no 
motive.  [Looking  closely  at  her.]  There’s  a  tear  drop 
clinging  to  the  fringe  of  your  eyelash.  There’s  no  motive 
for  that.  And  I  know  it.  I’m  going  to  brush  it  off.  [Does 
«?<?.]  That  girl’s  fancied  recognition  of  you  has  awakened 
memories — these  memories  have  caused  a  tear.  One  more 
motiveless  than  the  other.  We  know  she  had  no  motive, 
for  she  was  a  stranger  to  you — and  I’ll  be  hanged  if  I  let 
you  imagine  one;  for  I  don’t  like  tears.  And  there’s  only 
one  way  to  extract  happiness  out  of  this  wretched  life  of 
ours — dismiss  what  you  don’t  like — banish  it — forget  it. 
[All  this  has  been  spoken  with  a  sort  of  introspective  bit¬ 
terness.] 

Rose. 

If  you  can. 

Ford. 

Why  not?  I’ve  learned  the  trick!  It  has  cost  me  some¬ 
thing  to  learn  it.  But  I  have  learned  it ! 

Rose. 

That’s  where  we  deceive  ourselves — that’s  where  we  be¬ 
come  addicted  to  those  new  beliefs,  which,  whether  they 
be  disguisd  as  medicine  or  religion,  are  only  another  form 
of  narcotic.  They  still  the  pain — they  cannot  cure  it.  And 


78 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


memory— the  greatest  pain  of  all,  can  only  sleep— it  can 
never  die. 

Ford. 

Well,  who  cares  whether  it  sleeps  or  dies,  so  long  as  it 
doesn’t  wake  up? 

Rose. 

[In  a  lighter  tone.]  At  any  rate,  we  did  not  come  here 
to  exchange  morbid  fancies,  did  we? 

Ford. 

No — I’ll  be  hanged,  if  we  did.  Though,  if  you  were  to 
ask  me  what  we  did  come  for,  I  couldn’t  tell  you. 

Rose. 

That  is  not  very  flattering — especially  as  it  was  your 
suggestion  that  we  should  find  this  place  the  most  secluded. 

Ford. 

Quite  right.  So  it  is.  And  if  there  is  one  thing  a 
checkered  life  has  taught  me,  it  is  the  blessing  of  seclusion. 
[Drinks.]  Especially  seclusion  for  two.  [Fills  her  glass 
and  offers  it  to  her.  She  decline's.]  No?  I’m  sorry.  I 
wanted  you  to  meet  me  on  equal  grounds. 

Rose. 

I  don’t  like  to  see  you  drinking  so  much.  It  may  sound 
too  frank,  but  I  should  like  you  better  if  you  didn’t. 

Ford. 

Perhaps  you  wouldn’t  like  me  at  all,  how  do  you  know  ? 
I’m  an  unbearable  prig  when  I’m  too  sober.  And,  besides, 
if  I  were  too  sober,  would  I  now  be  enjoying  the  honor  of 
your  charming  society? 


79 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[Rising  and  moving  away.]  I  don’t  think  I  understand. 

Ford. 

[Feeling  the  wine.]  Pardon  me.  I  didn’t  mean  that. 
There’s  one  thing  I  want  you  to  take  for  granted  in  my 
society.  I  mean  to  be  a  gentleman.  My  methods  may,  at 
times,  appear  obscure;  but  I  shall  always  mean  to  be  a 
gentleman. 

Rose. 

[With  a  touch  of  bitterness.]  And,  after  all,  what  are 
mere  manners? 

Ford. 

Yes.  [Then  grasping  her  meaning.]  What  do  you 
mean? 

Rose. 

Underneath  any  possible  show  of  gallantry  on  your  part, 
I  should  read  the  truth.  I  should  always  know. 

Ford. 

What? 

Rose. 

That  you  had  first  met  me  in  that  informal  way. 

Ford. 

It  was  a  very  delightful  way. 

Rose. 

That  may  be  true — but  it  carries  its  punishment.  I  won¬ 
der  if  we  should  like  each  other  as  well,  if  we  had  been 
properly  introduced? 

Ford. 

I  can  only  speak  for  myself.  I  shouldn’t  like  you  half 
so  well. 


80 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Rose. 

I  can’t  understand  that. 

Ford. 

Oh,  you  could,  if  you  knew  the  kind  of  a  derelict  I  am.  I 
have  long  since  stopped  being  properly  introduced.  I  am 
just  a  drifting  hulk,  for  the  casual  wayfarer  to  make  the 
best  or  the  worst  of. 

Rose. 

I  can’t  make  you  out.  You  choose  your  words  too  well 
to  he  sincere.  I  have  found  that  those  who  feel  deepest 
sometimes  fumble. 

Ford. 

Well.  [Bluntly.]  I  don't  feel  deeply.  I  don’t  want  to 
— and  I  hope  I  may  never  fumble. 

Rose. 

Do  you  remember  how  we  first  met? 

Ford. 

I  think  so.  It  was  at  the  Casino  concert. 

Rose. 

The  concert  was  over.  You  lingered  in  your  seat.  They 
were  putting  out  the  lights.  They  had  just  played  Beethov¬ 
en.  There  was  something  in  the  music  that  enthralled  you. 

Ford. 

[With  momentary  rapture .]  It  was  Beethoven,  that  was 
all! 

Rose. 

I,  too,  was  enthralled.  I  saw  you  when  you  came  in,  and 
I  watched  you.  I  didn’t  know  what  it  was  that  attracted 
me  to  you — I  don’t  know  now.  I  watched  you,  too,  as  you 


81 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


sat  alone — and  I  heard  you  mutter  to  yourself,  disquieted, 
as  in  a  troubled  dream.  Then  I  leaned  over  to  you  and 
spoke  to  you.  You  did  not  seem  surprised. 

Ford. 

[In  a  matter-of-fact  tone.]  No. 

Rose. 

And  why  were  you  not  surprised? 

Ford. 

[With  a  slight,  unpleasant  laugh.]  Ha!  I  presumed  I 
wasn’t  the  first  man  you  had  spoken  to. 

Rose. 

[Flushing.]  But  you  were — in  just  that  way — you  were. 

Ford. 

And  why  did  you? 

Rose. 

Because  I  felt  at  that  moment  that  there  was  a  sadness 
in  your  life  that  claimed  kinship  with  mine.  And  you  did 
not  seem  displeased  to  have  me  speak. 

Ford. 

Not  at  all  displeased.  I  had  seen  you  come  in,  too.  And 
I  liked  your  air.  I  liked  the  way  you  took  possession.  And 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  become  acquainted  with  you. 

Rose. 

How  did  you  expect  to  manage  it? 

Ford. 

Would  it  have  been  so  difficult? 


82 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Rose. 

Very.  I,  too,  have  long  ceased  adding  to  my  acquaint¬ 
ances. 


Ford. 

Then  if  you  hadn’t  chosen — 


Rose. 

If  I  hadn’t  chosen  to  speak  to  you  as  I  did,  in  the  strange 
impulse  of  the  moment — we  might  never  have  met. 


Ford. 

That  is  hard  to  believe.  Aren’t  you  a  woman  of  the 
world?  Don’t  we  know  a  number  of  people  in  common? 

Rose. 

That  may  be.  I  am  a  woman  of  the — [hesitates]  — 
world ;  if  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way — known  to  perhaps 
too  many — but  there  is  one  right  I  have  never  waived — a 
right  which  I  guard  more  sacredly  as  the  days  go  by.  The 
right  to  deny  myself.  You  may  not  value  it  too  highly — 
this  privilege  of  being  one  of  my  friends,  but  it  may  give 
me  an  added  value  in  your  eyes  to  know  that  you  are  one 
of  the  few. 

Ford. 

Oh,  don’t  think  I  undervalue  the  fact.  If  I  don’t  ex¬ 
press  my  satisfaction  too  glibly,  remember  that  I  have  the 
right  to  choose  my  own  time  to  fumble.  But  I  know  your 
reputation !  Hobart  has  taken  pains  enough  to  educate  me 
on  that  score ! 

Rose. 

[ With  a  touch  of  anger.]  Hobart! 

Ford. 

Yes — my  friend — one  of  my  few  friends. 


83 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[As  before .]  And  what  does  Hobart  know  of  me? 


Ford. 

What  does  Hobart  know  of  anybody — not  much — only 
everything!  Hobart  stands  for  the  greatest  newspaper  in 
the  world,  that  recognizes  only  one  crime — and  that  is, 
*‘not  to  know.” 

Rose. 

And  he  has  been  enlightening  you  about  me? 


Ford. 

[With  extravagant  grandeur  of 
nating ! 


Rose. 

He  has  belittled  my  reputation? 


expression.] 


Illumi- 


Ford. 

[As  before.}  Belittled  it!  Exalted  it!  He  has  painted 
you  in  such  colors  that  crowned  heads  should  now  be  en¬ 
vying  me  the  privilege  of  this  tete-a-tete. 


Rose. 

[Darting  up  in  pride.}  You  mean  this  for  mockery — but 
they  should,  indeed  !  They  should  ! 

Ford. 

[Continuing.}  Why,  you  have  turned  a  cold  shoulder — 

a  beautiful  cold  shoulder  upon  even  the  king  of -  But 

why  betray  the  old  dotard  ?  He  has  done  sillier  things  than 
lose  his  heart  to  the  beautiful  Rosamond. 


Rose. 

[As  before.}  There  are  others  on  the  list  of  dotards, 


84 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


more  radiant  than  that  old  fool;  you  can  tell  that  to  your 
friend. 

Ford. 

Well,  in  that  case,  how  can  I — I — I — you  see,  I  am 
fumbling  at  last. 

Rose. 

I  have  chosen  you,  because — I  have  acquired  a  reputa¬ 
tion  for  being  select. 

Ford. 

[A  little  harshly.]  Now  it  is  you  who  are  mocking. 
But,  by  Heaven,  I  doff  my  hat  to  no  man  when  it  comes 
to  being  worthy  of  a  woman’s  favor!  You  owe  it  to  me — 
you  and  all  your  beautiful  sisters — to  help  wipe  out  the 
misery  one  of  you  has  caused. 

Rose. 

[With  sudden  interest.]  What  misery  is  that? 

Ford. 

[Bitterly.]  Do  you  think  I  shall  live  it  over  again  to 
please  your  idle  fancy  ?  Ah,  no !  That  would  be  too  high 
a  price  to  pay  even  you ! 


Rose. 

[With  pained  resentment.]  It’s  the  wine  that  is 
speaking ! 

Ford. 

What  if  it  is  the  wine?  Let’s  be  thankful  for  it!  It  is 
unmasking  our  souls — it  is  helping  us  to  reach  each  other 
aright.  Well  [with  an  assumed  swagger],  beautiful  Rosa¬ 
mond,  you  have  conquered  me !  Crowned  heads  can  go 
hang,  and  so  can  Hobart,  with  his  fine  phrases  of  sur- 


85 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


rendered  manhood!  I  love  you,  beautiful  Rosamond,  just 
as  ardently  and  deeply  as  any  man  can  lie  about !  And,  by 
Heaven,  I  will  pay  your  price ! 

Rose. 

[Tries  to  speak.  Her  voice  fails  her.  She  bursts  into 
tears,  and  sinks  sobbing  upon  the  seat.] 

Ford. 

[, Suddenly  realizing  his  position ,  makes  a  desperate  ef¬ 
fort  to  pull  himself  together.]  My  God!  What  a  miser¬ 
able  coward  I  am!  [Goes  to  her.]  Don’t  cry!  I  am  not 
worth  your  tears!  I  ask  your  pardon.  [He  kneels  to  her 
— she  weeps  silently.]  I  don’t  know  how  to  deal  with 
women,  they  are  all  so  different.  You  see,  my  fatal  fluency 
plunged  me  into  such  a  torrent  of  words,  I  didn’t  know 
what  I  was  saying.  I  can’t  blame  Hobart  for  everything 
— but  I  can  blame  him  for  a  good  deal.  But  I  am  a  fool — 
a  miserable,  wretched  fool.  [All  this  has  been  said  with 
honest  simplicity,  and  he  breaks  down  utterly  at  the  close.] 

Rose. 

[Recovering,  lays  her  hand  upon  his  head.]  You  are 
only  a  boy.  A  wayward,  unhappy  boy.  You  didn’t  know 
— you  didn’t  know  ! 

Ford. 

No.  I  couldn’t  have  known.  [He  has  risen.] 

Rose. 

It  is  your  youth,  and  the  ignorance  of  youth  that  has 
fascinated  me.  For,  with  all  the  worldly  wisdom  that  you 
assume,  your  heart  is  as  guileless  as  a  child’s.  What  right 
have  I,  with  my  bitter  knowledge,  to  expect  you  to  under¬ 
stand  ? 


86 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


% 


Ford. 

What  bitter  knowledge  can  you  have  that  I  have  not? 

Rose. 

I  am  a  woman — and  to  a  woman,  knowledge  is  bitterness 
in  itself — to  a  man  it  is  only  progress.  I  am  going  to  leave 
you.  But  I  want  to  make  a  confession  to  you  before  I  go. 
Will  you  hear  it? 

Ford. 

Why  should  you  go?  You  have  forgiven  me? 

Rose. 

Yes,  but  will  you  hear  my  confession? 

Ford. 

Yes.  [Slight  pause.] 

Rose. 

I  meant  it  all,  when  I  said  I  had  chosen  you  out  of  many, 
and  I  had  come  to-day  to  tell  you  so. 

Ford. 

Rosamond ! 

Rose. 

I  know  your  friend  Hobart  has  told  you  the  kind  of 
woman  I  am — Rosamond,  with  her  villa  by  the  sea,  and 
her  splendid  sins.  He  may  be  right  or  he  may  be  wrong. 
What  does  he  know,  save  from  common  report?  But  the 
same  right  I  hold  to  deny  has  given  me  the  right  to  be¬ 
stow.  I  am  a  free  agent.  No  living  soul  has  any  claim  on 
me.  You  speak  of  my  reputation.  What  do  I  care  for 
that?  I  forfeited  that  long  ago,  and  I  did  it  with  my  eyes 
open — because  I  dared  to  do  it.  And  because  I  defied 
those  who  valued  it  so  highly  that  they  demanded  my 


87 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


degradation.  Let  them  answer  if  they  have  been  satisfied. 
Beyond  this,  my  life  does  not  concern  you.  But  there  is 
that  in  yours  that  has  made  its  silent  appeal — an  unspoken 
charm  of  sorrow  that  has  drawn  you  to  me.  Yes — even  now 
it  is  whispering  insidiously  into  my  ear  “surrender.”  I 
should  have  fought  against  this  with  heart  and  brain  a 
year  ago,  but  now — what  have  I  to  lose? 

“To  say  of  shame — what  is  it? 

Of  virtue,  we  can  miss  it, 

Of  sin — we  can  but  kiss  it, 

And  it’s  no  longer  sin.” 

[As  he  embraces  her,  she  frees  herself.]  And  so — good 
bye!  [Extends  her  hand.] 

Ford. 

[Taken  aback.]  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  say  good 
bye? 

Rose. 

Yes. 

Ford. 

Not  until  you  tell  me  when  and  where  we  shall  meet 
again. 

Rose. 

Why  should  we  meet? 

Ford. 

Have  all  your  words  meant  nothing?  Have  you  been 
kindling  a  fire  in  my  soul,  only  to  laugh  at  it? 

Rose. 

Have  I  kindled  a  fire  there?  What  is  this  fire? 


88 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

What  matters  the  name  I  give  it?  If  it  be  not  love,  it  is 
a  strange,  mad  longing,  that  calls  out  to  you— I  want  you, 
Rosamond. 

Rose. 

As  a  plaything !  As  others  have  wanted  me ! 

Ford. 

Can  we  afford  to  laugh  at  the  passion  the  gods  have 
planted  in  our  breasts  ?  You  have  bewitched  me — you  have 
bewildered  me.  I  have  had  my  full  share  of  misery,  let  me 
forget  it  in  your  arms. 

Rose. 

But  your  friend  has  warned  you — I  am  a  dangerous 
woman ! 

Ford. 

I  want  you  for  the  dangers  I  may  brave! 

Rose. 

[Feverishly  extracting  a  letter  from  the  folds  of  her 
dress.]  Read  this — read  this — [gives  it  to  him]  it  is  from 
the  Baron  de  Graff. 


Your  lover! 


Ford. 


Rose. 

[With  supreme  contempt.]  My  lover!  Read  it!  Read  it! 


Ford. 

[Reading  silently.] 

Rose. 

[Speaks  while  he  reads.]  For  months  he  has  importuned 
me.  He  has  even  compromised  me.  His  name  has  been 


89 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


linked  with  mine,  and  no  doubt  a  hundred  times  by  your 
all-wise  friend;  but  read — read. 


Ford. 

[Having  read,  with  excitement.]  Why,  he  offers  you  a 
king’s  ransom,  and  implores - 


Rose. 

[Cutting  him  short.]  No,  he  does  not  implore — he  de¬ 
mands. 


Ford. 

And  what  answer  have  you  sent  him? 


Rose. 

[Tearing  the  letter  into  hits,  as  if  the  act  were  one  of 
banishment,  speaks  with  supreme  scorn.]  He  left  for 
Austria  this  morning,  with  insults  and  curses  upon  his  lips, 
and  I  am  proud  and  happy  in  this  hour — whatever  comes 
with  years.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ?  Because — branded, 
though  I  am— I  can  indulge  myself  in  the  luxury  of  my 
own  choice.  Do  you  understand  ?  But  I  have  my  price ! 
[In  a  tone  of  great  elation.]  I  have  my  price! 

Ford. 

Rosamond  !  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Rose. 

I  will  tell  you  to-night— in  my  arms — and  you  will  pay 
it.  Say  that  you  love  me !  I  know  it  will  be  a  lie,  but  the 
recording  angel  will  blot  it  out,  for  it  will  be  a  glint  of 

happiness  in  a  life  that  has  been  all  delusion!  Say  it— 
say  it! 

Ford. 

Rosamond — I — I -  [She  chokes  off  the  word.] 


90 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

No — no,  it  would  be  a  sacrilege — but  you  do  prize  the 
gift  I  am  throwing  at  your  feet? 

Ford. 

[Embracing  her.]  Rosamond! 

Rose. 

This  is  my  hour  of  madness — but  it  is  the  madness  of 
joy.  Listen — my  villa  nestles  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  But 
a  short  distance  from  the  Hotel  de  Paris  at  Monte  Carlo, 
as  you  turn  towards  the  sea.  It  is  overgrown  with  jasmine 
and  roses.  You  will  find  it.  Come  to  me  there — to-night ! 
We  shall  be  all  alone — you  and  I — and  the  silent  stars. 
You  will  come? 

[As  he  moves  to  embrace  her  she  leaves  him,  his  face 
illumined  with  wonder  and  transport.] 

[The  curtain  falls.] 

End  of  Act  II. 


91 


ACT  III. 


SCENE:  “Rosamond’s  Bozuer.”  [A  richly  furnished  in¬ 
terior,  zvith  zvindows  at  the  back  that  open  upon  a  balcony 
overlooking  the  starlit  Mediterranean  Sea,  zvith  its  deep, 
wonderful  blue.  Through  the  open  zvin  dozes  stringed  music 
floats  from  the  waters,  the  melody  a  reminiscence  of  the 
previous  act.*  A  bedroom  adjoins  the  boudoir,  zvhere  the 
inznsible  Rosamond,  supposedly  disrobing,  is  heard  to 
speak,  from  time  to  time,  during  the  opening  conversation.] 

Ford  is  DISCOVERED  upon  the  balcony,  first  looking 
out  towards  sky  and  sea,  then  turning  towards  the  inner 
room.  He  draws  a  deep  sigh  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure, 
and  then  murmurs,  zvith  deep  feeling. 

It  is  so  beautiful,  it  almost  hurts. 

Rose. 

[From  the  adjoining  room — in  a  tender  voice.]  Are  you 
talking  to  yourself  or  me? 

Ford. 

What  does  it  matter?  Speech  means  so  little.  The  poetry 
of  it  all  loses  in  the  utterance.  Why  don’t  you  come? 

Rose. 

[As  before.]  I  am  trying  to  manage  without  my  maid, 
as  you  know,  and  that  has  its  difficulties. 


*  The  incidental  melody  *'  Silent  Stars  of  Night  ”  can  be  obtained  of  the  publisher,  Chas.  K. 
Harris.  New  York. 


92 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


No  doubt. 


Ford. 


Rose. 

Have  you  ever  read  that  fairy  tale  of  Grimm’s,  in  which 
the  maiden  Rapunzel  is  besought  to  let  down  her  hair? 


Ford. 

[Quoting  it  sentimentally.]  ‘“Rapunzel!  Rapunzel! 
Let  down  your  hair !” 

Rose. 

Yes,  but  letting  down  her  hair  must  have  been  a  simpler 
process  in  those  days.  With  the  intricacies  of  modern 
hair  dressing,  I  can’t  imagine  Rapunzel  obeying  that  be¬ 
hest  without  some  consideration.  [Wg/w.]  “Rapunzel! 
Rapunzel !  Let  down  your  hair.”  It  haunts  me.  How  did 
she  ever  do  it  without  her  maid? 


Ford. 

History  doesn’t  say  whether  she  had  a  maid  or  not.  [He 
comes  down.] 

Rose. 

Oh,  surely !  In  her  little  romance  there  couldn’t  have 
been  a  third,  any  more  than  in  ours.  Poetry  demands  its 
sacrifices,  you  know.  But  it  is  hard  to  be  self-reliant  in 
such  a  moment  as  this.  I  shall  have  to  choose  my  own 
gown — think  of  having  to  make  that  mental  effort  all  alone. 
Could  I  be  showing  you  a  greater  mark  of  distinction? 
What  is  your  favorite  color? 

Ford. 

I  have  none.  I  love  all  colors.  Just  color  for  color’s 
sake.  [He  sits.] 


93 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

My  poet  lover  is  complacent  to-night — but  think  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  if  I  took  him  at  his  word.  I  look 
hideous  in  some  colors. 

Ford. 

I  don’t  believe  it. 

Rose. 

And  even  if  one  poet  has  called  us  “a  rag,  and  a  bone, 
and  a  hank  of  hair,”  at  heart,  he’s  just  as  exacting  about 
that  particular  rag  as  the  rest  of  us.  Are  you  getting  tired 
of  waiting?  I  shan’t  be  long.  Talk  to  yourself  some  more. 
I  love  to  hear  you. 

Ford. 

I  don’t  think  you  would,  if  I  were  really  talking  to  my¬ 
self. 

Rose. 

Why  ? 

Ford. 

Self-communing  is  not  a  very  happy  pursuit  with  me.  If 
I  were  really  alone,  even  this  wondrous  beauty  would  have 
its  bitterness. 

Rose. 

That  is  no  mood  in  which  to  greet  the  little  god  who  has 
drawn  us  together. 

Ford. 

Who  shall  say  the  little  god  has  done  it? 

Rose. 

Who  shall  say  he  has  not? 

Ford. 

[Rising.]  How  all  the  glories  of  the  night  would  be- 


94 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


come  intensified  if  that  were  so.  If  I  were  really  your 

lover,  if  that  mysterious  you — with  all  your  potent  charm _ 

were,  let  us  say,  that  lover’s  bride — what  a  different  rap¬ 
ture  would  swell  our  breasts!  How  all  the  magic  of  this 
scene,  which  even  now,  though  we  know  we  are  but  trifling 
with  the  sacred  fire,  stirs  us  to  a  semblance  of  joy — how 
it  would  then  uplift  and  exalt  us !  There  would  be  no  room 
for  bitterness  and  gall.  But  that  is  the  curse  and  cost  of 
worldliness — it  shows  us  the  tinsel  of  fairyland — and  makes 
a  pastime  of  our  passions.  [He  moves  towards  the  balcony 
again.] 

Rose. 

Do  you  think  that  your  worldliness  and  mine  are  just  the 
same  ? 

Ford. 

They  may  differ  in  degree,  but  not  in  kind.  We  buy  il¬ 
lusions,  and  call  them  pleasures.  [On  the  balcony.] 

Rose. 

Are  you  sure  they  are  illusions  and  nothing  more? 

Ford. 

As  sure  as  I  am  that  this  wonderful  spot,  Monte  Carlo, 
is  known  to  the  world,  not  for  its  beauty,  but  for  its  wicked 
pleasures.  But  some  day  I  shall  write  a  book.  It  will  deal 
with  this  place,  and  the  soul-entrancing  drive  that  brings 
us  here  along  the  Corniche  Road.  And  though  famous 
places,  like  famous  people,  are  best  known  by  their  sins, 
there  shall  not  be  a  word  in  it  about  the  Casino,  or  the 
gaming  tables — just  about  its  marvelous  self,  reveling  in 
the  beauty  God  has  robed  it  in.  [He  drinks  in  the  scene.] 


95 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

Will  it  be  in  prose  ? 

Ford. 

I  shall  have  to  write  it  in  prose,  but  it  will  be  felt  in 
poetry  [with  a  smile],  which  may  prevent  its  ever  being 
written  at  all  [returning  to  the  room],  for  even  the  pen 
can  fumble,  you  know.  [He  has  returned  into  the  room 
and  meets  Rose.] 

Rose. 

[ENTERING,  in  silken  dishabille,  her  hair  loosely 
caught  in  a  coil,  her  neck  bare,  a  picture  of  sweetness, 
grace,  and  self -surrender.]  And  what  do  you  call  poetry? 

Ford. 

[Entranced  by  the  sight  of  her.]  You!  [He  attempts 
to  embrace  her.] 

Rose. 

[Gently  disengaging  herself  as  she  rests  upon  his 
shoulder.] 

Ford. 

How  am  I  going  to  resist  all  this  loveliness? 

Rose. 

I  don’t  want  you  to  resist  it.  But  this  is  to  be  a  lover’s 
journey  through  wonderland.  We  do  not  want  to  rush  to 
the  end  of  it  [very  softly],  but  linger  on  the  way,  lest  we 
should  miss  a  single  stage  of  its  happiness. 


Ford. 

[With  boyish  resignation.]  And  how  shall  we  begin  this 
journey? 


Rose. 

Here,  like  this.  You  shall  sit  at  my  feet,  and  look  up 


96 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


into  my  eyes  while  you  speak.  [She  places  a  stool  for  him, 
and  sits  on  a  cushioned  scat  above  him.] 

Ford. 

[Seated  as  directed.]  Speak !  While  I  am  silenced  with 
your  beauty!  [He  gathers  her  two  hands  and  kisses  their 
palms.]  I  can’t  speak. 


Rose. 

That  doesn’t  sound  a  bit  worldly.  You  who  have  taken 
such  an  accurate  measure  of  your  own  feelings  shouldn’t  try 
to  mislead  mine.  After  all,  I  think  my  estimate  of  you  is 
the  true  one.  Was  I  not  right  when  I  said  you  were  a  boy? 
My  sweet,  wayward,  darling  boy. 


Ford. 

Well,  if  to  be  overcome  by  your  charm  and  grace  is  to 
be  a  boy,  I  am  a  boy.  But  an  eager  and  impatient  one. 
[He  lays  his  head  on  her  lap  and  clasps  her  knees.]  It 
seems  long  ago  that  my  boyish  spirit  forsook  me.  But  it 
returns  to  me  to-night.  I  am  almost  happy. 


Happy  in  a  delusion? 
Yes. 


Rose. 

Ford. 


Rose. 

For  that  is  what  I  am,  you  know. 


Ford. 

[With  a  sigh.]  I  know — and  I  am  clasping  you  for  the 
happiness  it  brings. 


Rose. 

But  does  it  bring  happiness  ?  Isn’t  that  the  bitterest  part 


97 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


of  it?  As  I  hold  you  close,  like  this  [she  caresses  him],  if 
I  were  not  a  little  schooled  in  that  worldly  knowledge  you 
profess — I  might  be  deceived.  If  I  didn’t  know ,  I  might 
think  it  love. 

Ford. 

No  one  would  chide  you  for  it. 


Rose. 

But  the  little  god  would  be  laughing  at  me.  And  I  might 
be  deceiving  you  with  the  belief  that  I  loved  you  in  return. 
And  we  should  begin  our  journey  with  deceit;  that,  some¬ 
how,  would  rob  it  of  its  charm. 

Ford. 

Isn’t  that  part  of  the  game  we  are  playing? 


[A  little  sadly.] 
it  is  only  a  game. 


Rose. 

True.  True. 
Ford. 


How  could  you  forget? 


I  must  not  forget  that 


Rose. 

[Pained.]  To  be  sure.  How  could  I  forget?  What 
writer  is  it  that  speaks  of  the  trick  of  the  senses?  For  a 
brief  moment  mine  had  tricked  me.  And  as  I  caught  your 
frank  and  boyish  look  I  was  almost  deceived.  You  couldn't 
think  that  I  loved  you?  Could  you? 


Ford. 

I  don’t  know  what  I  think. 


Rose. 

Or  that  you  love  me? 


98 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

What  difference  does  it  make?  I  am  happy  to-night- 
happy  for  the  first  time  in  many  months.  I  don’t  ask  what 
it  is  that  makes  me  so.  Whatever  it  is,  you  have  brought 
it  to  me.  It  is  the  touch  of  you.  It  is  the  strange  light  in 
your  eyes— it  is  the  fragrance  of  your  breath.  God  only 
knows  what  it  is— but  it  is  you.  And  I  wish  to  hold  it  fast. 
[Clasps  her  fervently.] 

Rose. 

[In  a  tone  of  elation,  in  his  arms.]  And  to  think  that 
every  word  you  utter  might  be  translated  into  love — if  we 

did  not  know -  [Calming  herself.]  You  were  angry 

with  me  to-day  for  asking  why  you  were  unhappy.  Are 
you  still  angry  with  me  for  wanting  to  know  ? 

Ford. 

Years  have  passed  since  this  afternoon.  Something 
seems  to  give  you  the  right  to  ask  now.  But  why  should 
you  want  to  know  ?  I  have  forgotten  sorrow.  Is  it  not 
enough  for  you  to  feel  that  you  have  banished  it  ? 

Rose. 

Some  woman  made  you  unhappy.  That  I  know.  But  I 
am  a  woman,  and  I  must  plead  my  sister’s  cause.  What 
had  you  done? 

Ford. 

[Rising,  and  finding  a  tone  of  bitterness.]  What  had  I 
done?  That  is  the  mockery  and  the  misery  of  it!  If  I 
could  only  answer  that  question,  then,  perhaps,  I  should 
find  a  surcease  of  that  sorrow  that  has  made  me  play  the 
fool — the  fool  who  even  now  is  frittering  away  his  life. 
But  because  I  cannot  answer  it,  I  am  doomed  to  self-tor- 


99 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


ture.  What  had  I  done,  indeed !  Do  you  think  it  was 
through  any  fault  of  mine? 

Rose. 

[In  equal  agitation.]  It  was  through  no  fault  of  yours? 


Ford. 

No!  But  how  can  you  understand!  How  can  you  un¬ 
derstand  !  [In  mental  distress,  he  throws  himself  upon  the 
cushioned  .sraj.] 

Rose. 

[After  a  pause,  during  which  she  shows  what  effect 
his  zvords  have  made  upon  her,  goes  over  to  him,  clasps  his 
head  and  kisses  his  forehead,  as  she  speaks  zvith  much 
feeling.]  Oh,  yes,  I -can  understand — my  poor,  poor  boy! 
[A  gradual  change  comes  over  him,  as  his  momentary  an¬ 
ger  yields  to  her  physical  charm.] 


Don’t !  Don’t ! 
What  ? 


Ford. 

Rose. 


Ford. 

Don’t  kiss  my  forehead.  That’s  in  pity, 
pity! 

Rose. 

They  say  that  pity  is  akin  to - 


I  don’t  want 


Ford. 

I  know  what  it  is  akin  to.  But  I  don’t  want  that  kind 
of  love.  I  am  not  really  a  boy.  It  is  part  of  the  comedy 
you  are  playing  to  call  me  one.  It  has  been  my  part  to 
play  the  boy.  It’s  easy  enough !  The  first  dawn  of  a  new 


ioo 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


passion  puts  the  boy  into  all  our  hearts.  I  know  that,  be¬ 
cause  I  am  a  man ! 

Rose. 

[Bending  over  him ,  brings  him  under  the  influence  of  her 
charm.  His  head  upon  her  breast ,  she  murmurs  soothe 
ingly.\  I  know  !  I  know  ! 

Ford. 

[With  intensity ,  in  a  hoarse  voice.]  If  I  am  to  kiss  you 
— let  me  kiss  your  lips. 

Rose. 

Why,  they  are  here  for  you  to  kiss.  But  not  yet — not 
yet.  There  is  so  much  I  want  you  to  know  before  our  lips 
meet. 

Ford. 

What  more  do  I  want  to  know — than  that  you  are  you? 


Rose. 

[Close  to  him ,  their  faces  almost  touching .] 
what  am  I? 


My  queen ! 

For  to-night.  But 


Ford. 

Rose. 

there  is  a  morrow. 


But  who  and 


Ford. 

Let  to-morrow  wait.  You  are  my  queen  to-night. 
[Clasps  her  in  his  arms  passionately.] 

Rose. 

[Still  denying  him  her  lips.]  Sweetheart — listen — just 
for  a  moment.  You  think  it  is  easy  for  me  to  surrender 
— well — perhaps  it  is.  But  until  you  know  what  I  have  to 
tell,  you  will  not  be  able  to  understand  why  I  hesitate. 


IOI 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

[With  returning  bitterness .]  You  have  not  repented  of 
your  bargain?  You  do  not  wish  me  to  leave  you? 

Rose. 

[With  a  touch  of  pain.]  Do  not  call  it  a  bargain.  See 
[clasping  him  to  her  heart],  does  this  look  as  though  I 
wanted  you  to  leave?  But  by  the  love  you  once  bore — 
no — not  her — for  she  was  false — but  by  the  most  sacred 
love  you  ever  knew — I  conjure  you,  do  not  call  this  meet¬ 
ing  of  ours  by  that  name.  It  was  a  bargain,  I  know — and 
I  am  here  to  carry  out  my  share  of  it.  But  in  the  name  of 
all  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  love,  let  us  not  think  of  it  in 
that  way.  If  we  can  cheat  ourselves  into  a  feeling  that  is 
so  nearly  love,  let  us  still  further  cheat  ourselves  into  giving 
it  a  holier  name. 

Ford. 

But  why  should  we  cheat  ourselves  at  all?  You  and  I 
belong  to  the  same  world.  We  drink  of  the  same  delights. 
We  triumph  in  the  same  possession.  Will  our  transports 
be  lessened  by  candor?  If  one  word  doesn’t  suit,  we  can 
choose  another.  What  are  words;  we  both  know  the  truth 
— and  it  is  the  truth  that  has  drawn  us  together ! 


Rose. 

[Terrified,  eludes  him.]  No — no — you  do  not  know  the 
truth. 


Ford. 

Then  you  deny  me  the  right  to  hold  and  kiss  you? 


Rose. 

No — no,  I  deny  you  nothing.  God  knows  if  there  were 


102 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


a  thousand  rights,  I  should  give  them  to  you  all ,  but  you 
must  listen — you  must  be  calm. 

Ford. 

Calm  !  That  is  the  woman  of  it !  Calm  ! 

Rose. 

And  who  shall  tell  you  that  it  is  not  I  who  have  the 
greater  task  in  being  calm?  The  woman  of  it,  indeed! 
What  do  you  know  of  the  fire  in  her  soul?  You  must  hear 
my  story.  It  is  not  for  my  sake,  but  your  own.  When  you 
have  heard  it — take  me.  I  am  yours — your  plaything,  your 
goddess,  your  highest,  your  lowest,  your  all  in  all!  Now 
will  you  hear  me? 

Ford. 

My  God !  What  can  you  have  to  tell  ? 

[A  pause.] 

Rose. 

It  is  no  long  history,  but  it  must  begin  somewhere.  When 
I  left  my  mother’s  house  a  year  ago,  I  was  to  have  been 
married  to  a  man  I  loved,  loved  as  deeply  as  you  must 
have  loved  her  whom  you  did  not  marry.  This  man — 
learning  that  I  was  [she  bows  her  head  and  lozvers  her 
voice ]  an  illegitimate  child,  brought  me  the  news,  and  cast 
me  off.  Through  no  fault  of  mine  he  cast  me  off. 

Ford. 

The  cur ! 

Rose. 

Do  you  see  how  our  lives  run  parallel?  My  sorrow  and 
remorse  gave  way  to  bitter  hatred.  If  the  world  had  really 
cast  me  out  I  would  give  it  cause.  I  came  to  Paris,  de- 


103 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


termined  to  be  avenged — but  on  whom?  In  the  blindness 
of  my  wrath  I  didn't  see  that  I  alone  should  be  the  victim. 
I  was  surrounded  by  men  of  rank  and  wealth.  I  learned 
soon  enough  the  grim  lesson  of  the  half-world,  that  men 
hunger  for  what  they  can’t  obtain,  and  indifference  is  the 
only  gift  that  pays.  The  last  shred  of  respectability  seemed 
torn  from  me,  and  I  took  comfort  in  the  thought  that  one 
at  home  would  have  it  on  his  conscience,  when  some  day 
he  should  hear  of  my  downward  path !  My  downward 
path !  Ha !  where  was  it  leading  me  to  ?  I  left  Paris 
and  came  here.  A  dozen,  fifty,  a  hundred  times  I  had 
been  on  the  point  of  yielding  all — that  absolutely  last  of 
all  1  But  no !  Something  within  me  rebelled !  I  could 
blind  the  whole  world — I  could  not  blind  myself !  I  was 
degraded  in  the  eyes  of  men  and  women  who  did  not  know 
— but  never — as  God  is  my  judge — never  could  /  who  did 
know — degrade  myself  to  that.  [With  a  shudder.]  No! 
Not  to  that!  Some  hidden  hand  reached  out — some 
buried  voice  awoke,  some  conscience,  some  soul,  some 
nameless,  inborn  spirit  held  me  back!  And  that  spark, 
which  only  burns  in  the  breast  of  a  good,  pure  woman, 
has  never  been  extinguished  in  mine ! 

Ford. 

[Amazed.]  What  do  you  mean? 

Rose. 

Tarnished,  declassed,  shamed  for  seeking  shame,  if  you 
will,  but  the  woman  you  have  chosen  for  your  queen  to¬ 
night  could  not  look  into  your  eyes  more  fearlessly,  more 
unfalteringly,  if  you  had  chosen  her  for  your  bride. 

[A  deep  pause.] 


104 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Ford. 

[Awed.]  Then  who  and  what  am  I  that  I  should  be 
here,  and  by  what  miracle  have  you  been  led  to  me  ? 

Rose. 

You  are  my  chosen  lover.  It  is  the  souks  hunger  that 
has  led  me  to  you.  The  girl  I  was  a  year  ago  could  have 
gone  with  her  lover  to  the  altar  of  the  church  and  become 
his  wife.  There  is  no  altar  for  such  as  I — save  that  which 
we  build  for  ourselves  with  our  passionate  hearts.  To  this 
altar  I  have  come.  It  is  the  vanquished  woman,  at  last, 
who  speaks.  [She  hows  her  head.] 

Ford. 

[Goes  to  her,  with  deep  feeling.]  Rosamond! 

Rose. 

Dearest !  [She  sinks  into  his  arms.  He  kisses  her  eyes, 
and  with  deep  tenderness  strokes  her  hair.  The  distant 
music  rises  and  falls.] 

[A  pause.] 

Rose. 

I  feel  as  though  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  a  long  jour¬ 
ney.  Weary  of  body,  but  with  soul  elate.  Oh,  the  sweet 
rest  of  it!  [Comforting  herself  in  his  arms.]  And  oh! 
The  glad  joy!  Kiss  me,  kiss  my  lips! 

Ford. 

No.  Not  your  lips.  [Kisses  her  face  and  her  hair,  and 
then  her  hands,  which  he  holds.] 

Rose. 

And  why  not  my  lips  ? 


105 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


I  dare  not. 


Ford. 


Rose. 

Dare  not,  in  this  hour  of  your  triumph ! 
of  all  men  in  the  world — yours  alone? 


Am  I  not  yours 


Ford. 

No,  darling. 

Rose. 

You  do  not  believe  me,  then? 

Ford. 

It  is  because  I  believe  that  I  dare  not. 

Rose. 

I  do  not  understand. 

Ford. 

But  you  shall. 

Rose. 

[Continuing.]  I  only  know  that  Fate  has  guarded  me 
for  this  hour,  to  lay  me,  a  willing  sacrifice,  upon  your 
heart.  Do  not  speak,  but  kiss  me. 


Ford. 

But  will  you  not  hear  me  before  it  is  too  late? 


Rose. 

It  is  too  late.  The  last  bridge  has  been  crossed,  we  are 
on  the  shores  of  Paradise. 


Ford. 

Rosamond,  we  must  part. 


106 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[Startled.]  Part?  [In  a  fever  of  self -questioning.]  Be¬ 
cause  I  have  bared  my  soul  to  you?  Because  I  am  not 
the  wanton  you  believed  me  when  you  bargained  for  me  ? 

Ford. 

Do  not  use  that  word. 

Rose. 

[Intensely.]  I  must.  It  was  your  word — and  there  is 
no  other.  Am  I  less  fair  to-night  than  I  was  at  noon? 
You  bargained  for  me  then.  You  bade  me  name  my  price, 
so  that  you  might  pay  it.  [With  a  burst  of  elation.] 
There  Is  no  price — only  kiss  for  kiss ! 

Ford. 

There  is  a  far  greater — too  great  for  me  to  pay !  [A 
short  pause  of  wonder.]  Ah,  Rosamond,  hear  me!  [He 
goes  close  to  her;  she  places  her  hand  over  his  lips.] 

Rose. 

No !  No ! 

Ford. 

[Removing  her  hand.]  It  would  be  easy  enough  for  me 
to  yield.  Every  pulse  in  my  veins  is  pleading  your  cause. 
But  there  is  a  spark  in  every  honest  man's  breast  that  he 
dare  not  let  die.  I  have  never  laid  violent  hands  upon  a 
sacred  shrine.  I  can’t,  Rosamond,  I  cannot !  Do  you  think 
that  a  woman’s  purity  counts  for  so  little  in  my  eyes  that 
I  can  wantonly  lay  it  waste?  A  man  may  be  of  coarser 
fibre,  but  deep  in  his  nature  there  is  something  akin  to  the 
holiest  in  yours.  Something  that  God  gave  to  his  mother, 
and  his  mother  gave  to  him! 


107 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[Having  listened,  deeply  impressed,  now  stands  lost  in 
azved  silence.] 

Ford. 

[Continues  passionately.]  You  will  understand  it  all 
more  clearly  some  day — and  you  will  place  to  my  credit 
the  outcome  of  this  night — and  what  the  parting  means 
to  me  in  self-denial.  But  I  am  only  human,  and  I  must  go ! 
[Resists  the  inviting  passion  of  her  lips.]  Good  bye!  [He 
dashes  out.  A  pause.  The  front  door  is  heard  closing.] 

Rose. 

[Voiceless  up  to  now,  in  a  conflict  of  emotion,  cries  out 
in  a  tone  of  intense  longing.]  Come  back!  [and  sink¬ 
ing  upon  the  seat,  sobs  in  a  voice  of  infinite  feeling.]  I 
love  you  !  I  love  you  ! 

[The  music  is  heard  in  the  distance  as  the  curtain  falls.] 

[End  of  Act  III.] 


\ 


108 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE:  Walter  Hobart’s  sitting  room  in  the  hotel 
at  Monte  Carlo.  It  is  about  nine  in  the  morning.  The 
room  bears  evidence  of  an  all-night  session.  The  blinds 
are  still  down  and  the  electric  lights  ablaze. 

Hobart  is  completing  his  morning  toilet  at  a  mirror, 
zvhile  Ford,  pale  and  distracted,  is  seated  at  a  little  table, 
on  which  liquors  and  siphons  are  in  evidence.  He  is  dressed 
as  in  the  previous  act. 

Hobart. 

I  think,  Ford,  I  have  gathered  all  the  material  facts.  I 
certainly  ought  have  by  this  time.  Do  you  realize  how  long 
this  session  of  ours  has  lasted?  \Looks  at  clock .]  Nine 
o’clock!  I  think  four  hours  ought  to  be  enough  for  even 
the  densest  mind  to  comprehend  the  situation.  Let  us  let 
the  light  of  day  in  on  it.  [ Pulls  up  blinds  and  extinguishes 
lights.] 

Ford. 

But  how  do  I  know  that  you  have  comprehended  it?  Not 
by  any  word  you  have  spoken.  You  have  expressed  sur¬ 
prise,  that  was  all. 

Hobart. 

The  human  brain  is  not  capable  of  two  sets  of  emotions 
at  one  and  the  same  time.  When  you  routed  me  out  of 


109 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


bed  at  five  o’clock  this  morning,  and  bade  me  not  to  say  a 
word,  but  just  listen,  I  obeyed.  For  four  hours  I  have  lis¬ 
tened.  I  have  not  exhausted  the  one  set  of  emotions. 
What  may  follow  my  surprise  I  am  not  prepared  to  say. 
There’s  one  thing,  however,  I  shall  have  to  do,  as  a  direct 
result  of  your  confidence,  which  I  rather  resent.  [Goes  to 
escritoire  at  back.] 

Ford. 

What  is  that? 

Hobart. 

Destroy  about  a  dozen  pages  of  the  most  interesting 
material  contained  in  my  article  on  the  Riviera.  [He  finds 
the  pages,  and  tears  them  into  bits.] 

Ford. 

[Impressed  by  this,  rises.]  Hobart,  there’s  something 
fine  about  you — damned  if  there  isn’t. 

Hobart. 

Very  likely.  But  this  doesn’t  prove  it.  My  boss,  the 
yachtsman,  makes  us  verify  things  before  we  print  them 
— and  in  the  light  of  recent  developments  I  wouldn’t  care 
to  stand  the  yachtsman  s  test.  So  much  for  my  profes¬ 
sional  attitude  in  the  matter.  Now  for  my  personal.  I 
take  it  that  the  last  thing  you  are  looking  for  in  your  pres¬ 
ent  frame  of  mind  is  advice. 

Ford. 

I  won’t  say  that.  Why  have  I  told  you  all  this? 

Hobart. 

There  s  a  blessing  in  the  gift  of  speech,  just  for  the  re¬ 
lief  it  gives  the  speaker.  But  you  do  not  want  advice — 


no 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


you  would  not  be  worthy  of  all  that  flood  of  feeling  if  you 
listened  to  it.  You  will  work  out  your  destiny  in  your 
own  way,  and  all  you  will  expect  of  me  is  to  slap  you  on  the 
back  and  say,  “Well  done !” 


Ford. 

No  matter  how  I  shall  work  it  out? 

Hobart. 

No  matter  how.  But  this  much  I  do  know.  You  will 
have  to  provide  yourself  with  a  clear  outlook  before  you 
find  your  solution,  and  for  that  purpose  you  need  sleep. 
You  haven’t  slept,  to  my  knowledge,  for  twenty-four  hours. 
Go  in  there.  Lie  down.  I  will  close  the  door.  You  shall 
not  be  disturbed  for  an  hour,  at  least.  You  will  be  amazed 
what  an  effect  an  hour’s  sleep,  taken  at  a  crisis,  will  have 
on  a  man’s  life.  [Leading  him  to  the  bedroom.]  And 
while  you  are  sleeping,  you  can  transfer  to  me  all  the  ex¬ 
cess  of  mentality  that  is  now  disturbing  you.  That  will 
give  me  the  time  I  need  to  shift  from  one  set  of  emotions 
to  the  other. 

Ford. 

[Starts  to  speak,  changes  his  mind — gratefully  clasps 
Hobart’s  hand,  and  allows  himself  to  be  led  off  into  the 
adjoining  room.] 


Hobart. 

[At  the  door.]  If  I  should  be  called  away  before  you 
wake  I’ll  leave  any  message  for  you  on  the  alarm  clock ! 
[He  goes  to  his  telephone  and  notifies  the  office  that  he 
wants  a  hallboy.  He  comes  down  to  the  table,  takes  pen 
and  paper,  and  begins  to  zvrite  a  letter,  becoming  absorbed. 


hi 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


A  knock  at  the  door  is  unheeded;  then  repeated.  After  a 
pause  the  door  opens,  and  Langhorn  appears  timidly.] 


Langhorn. 


I  beg  pardon. 

Hobart. 

[Not  looking  up.]  Just  a  moment, 
this  note  I  am  writing  to  Room  74. 


I  want  you  to  take 


Langhorn. 

Fancy  that!  I  have  just  come  from  there. 


Hobart. 

Eh!  [Looking  up.]  Why,  hello,  Langhorn!  I  was  ex¬ 
pecting  the  hallboy. 

Langhorn. 

I  gathered  that  you  were  expecting  somebody.  You  said 
something  about  Room  74. 

Hobart. 

I  am  sending  this  note  to  Miss  Laura. 

Langhorn. 

She  isn’t  there. 

Hobart. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

Langhorn. 

There’s  some  mystery.  Some  delightful  little  mystery. 
I  love  little  mysteries,  and  it’s  always  my  good  fortune  to 
be  in  one  of  them.  But  I  need  help  this  time.  I  need  help. 

Hobart. 

[A  little  impatiently.]  You  look  it! 


112 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Langhorn. 

Fancy  my  receiving  a  summons  at  nine  o’clock  this 
morning,  rousing  me  from  my  soft  repose.  [Chuckling.] 
Ho !  Ho !  I  don’t  get  soft  repose  every  morning — not  at 
Monte  Carlo.  No,  indeed !  But  last  night  was  one  of  my 
particularly  solemn  and  virtuous  nights — I  went  to  bed  at 
eleven ! 

Hobart. 

Do  come  to  the  point,  Langhorn.  The  messenger  will 
be  here  in  a  minute.  [Knock  at  the  door.]  There  he  is 
now. 

Langhorn. 

Send  him  away.  You  won’t  need  him.  Miss  Laura  is 
not  there,  I  tell  you. 

Hobart. 

[Puzzled,  goes  to  the  door,  and  dismisses  unseen  mes¬ 
senger  in  pantomime,  Langhorn  talking  during  the  ac¬ 
tion.] 

Langhorn. 

My  summons  was  from  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase.  She  was 
alarmed.  She  had  been  awakened  at  an  unusually  early 
hour  by  Laura,  who  was  dressing  to  go  out.  Mamma  was 
too  sleepy  to  ask  a  lot  of  questions,  so  she  dozed  off  again, 
and  when  she  was  awakened  for  good,  Laura  was  gone. 
Fancy — gone  out  at  nine  a.  m.  Nobody  goes  out  at  Monte 
Carlo  at  nine  a.  m. — that  is — nobody  that  I  know.  So 
what  does  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase  do,  but  send  for  her  Ju¬ 
lius  !  There  is  one  thing  I  will  say  for  Miriam,  when  she 
is  in  doubt,  she  sends  for  Julius !  She  may  affect  to  spurn 
him  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  give  her  a  crisis — 
and  her  first  impulse  is  to  send  for  Julius.  Do  you  know,  I 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


like  that !  It  makes  me  feel  like  a  factor  in  her  life !  I 
love  to  feel  like  a  factor!  Now,  what  does  Miriam  say  to 
me,  when  I  answer  her  summons,  but:  “Find  Laura !” 
Just  as  she  might  say:  “Pass  me  the  pickles!”  “Find 
Laura !”  And  what  could  I  say  in  response,  on  the  in¬ 
stant,  but:  “Certainly,  my  dear.”  And  she  bade  me  go 
forth,  and  I  have  gone  forth.  Now,  won’t  you  please  tell 
me  where  Laura  is,  so  that  I  may  find  her? 

Hobart. 

Don’t  be  absurd.  [Seriously.]  Do  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Chase  really  does  not  know  where  Laura  is? 

Langhorn. 

Well,  ’pon  my  soul,  what  is  the  use  of  giving  you  all 
these  eloquent  details,  if  you  can  ask  such  a  simple  ques¬ 
tion  as  that?  What  am  I  here  for?  I  am  told  to  find 
Laura — and  what  more  natural  than - 

Hobart. 

Ask  me  to  find  her  for  you !  Is  that  your  idea  of  serv¬ 
ing  people  in  a  crisis? 

Langhorn. 

Can’t  you  tell  me  where  she  is  ? 

Hobart. 

I  haven’t  the  slightest  idea. 

Langhorn. 

Why,  she  is  your  fiancee.  You  certainly  are  the  first 
one  she  would  go  to. 

Hobart. 

I  see  you  are  working  on  a  theory,  at  least.  I  didn’t 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


give  you  credit  even  for  that.  But  I  am  as  much  surprised 
as  anybody  that  she  should  have  left  the  hotel  so  early  in 
the  morning,  though  I  refuse  to  be  alarmed  about  it. 

Langhorn. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  That’s  what  I  said  to 
Miriam.  “Don’t  be  alarmed !  Don’t  be  alarmed !”  But 
it  didn’t  have  much  effect.  It’s  mysterious,  you  must  admit 
— it’s  mysterious — and  if  it  were  not,  as  I  said  before,  that 
I  do  like  a  little  mystery - 


Hobart. 

Just  where  do  you  propose  to  look  for  her? 

Langhorn. 

Where  do  I  ?  If  you  fail  me,  I  shall  feel  rather  foolish. 
I  don’t  quite  know  how  to  reason  this  thing  out.  I  try  to 
put  myself  in  Laura’s  place.  I  ask,  where  would  a  young 
girl  be  likely  to  go  to  in  Monte  Carlo,  so  early  in  the 
morning,  without  her  mother’s  knowledge — and,  by  Jove, 
I’m  up  a  blind  alley.  I  keep  thinking  of  the  silly  story  I 
read  in  one  of  the  papers,  of  the  man  who  offered  a  re¬ 
ward  in  the  village  to  any  one  who  would  find  his  missing 
horse,  and  when  a  yokel  did  find  him  and  return  him  to 
the  owner,  the  owner  asked  how  did  he  manage  to  do  it, 
and  the  yokel  said :  “I  thought  out  where  /  would  be  likely 
to  go  to,  if  /  were  a  horse,  and  I  went  there  and  found 
him !” 

Hobart. 

[Laughs  I] 

Langhorn. 

But,  somehow  or  other,  that  doesn’t  fit  my  case.  I 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


can't  for  the  life  of  me  think  where  I  would  go  to,  if  I  were 
a  horse — [quickly  correcting  himself ]  Miss  Laura! 

[They  laugh.  A  knock  is  heard  upon  the  door.  The 
laughter  ceases.] 

Hobart. 

Come  in ! 

[ENTER  Laura.] 


Langhorn. 

By  Jove !  Talk  of  the - 


Laura. 

[To  Hobart.]  I  want  just  a  word — it  is  urgent. 


Langhorn. 

I’m  so  glad  you’ve  shown  up.  I’ve  been  sent  out  to 
search  for  you. 

Laura. 

Mother  was  too  sleepy  to  understand  my  explanation. 


Langhorn. 

Now  that  I  have  found  you,  I  will  report  at  once. 


Please  don’t. 


Laura. 


Langhorn. 

But  she  has  been  worrying  dreadfully. 


Laura. 

She  won’t  have  to  worry  much  longer.  I  shall  go  to  her 
directly. 

Langhorn. 

But  if  I  return  without  you? 


116 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Laura. 

Don’t.  Can’t  you  lose  yourself  for  ten  minutes? 

Langhorn. 

I  might  try.  Monte  Carlo  is  an  excellent  place  to  lose 
oneself  in.  I  will  give  your  mother  a  very  elaborate  ac¬ 
count  of  my  search.  I  may  have  to  invent  a  marvelous 
line  of  travel — but  it  will  have  to  end  here — so  if  in  ten 
minutes  she  should  come  in  personal  pursuit — don’t  be  sur¬ 
prised.  But  you  may  depend  upon  me — I  shall  go  on  the 
wildest  kind  of  a  goose  chase  in  search  of  you  in  the  mean¬ 
while.  And  with  these  few  remarks,  Julius  will  go  forth 
with  a  sense  of  duty  well  performed.  So-long!  [Waves 
his  hand  to  both ,  and  departs.] 

Hobart. 

What  has  happened? 

Laura. 

[With  some  agitation.]  I  received  a  letter  early  this 
morning. 

Hobart. 

From  whom? 

Laura. 

It  was  signed  “Rose.”  But  before  I  tell  you  about  it, 
Walter,  [She  presses  her  hand  fervently]  you  won’t  up¬ 
braid  me!  I  was  right,  dear,  yesterday,  when  I  told  you 
I  recognized  her.  It  threatened  a  breach  between  you  and 
me — then — and  I  hardly  know  now  how  you  will  receive 
the  news  that  I  bring. 

Hobart. 

[Quietly.]  You  have  just  come  from  Rosamond’s  house. 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Laura. 

[In  almost  inaudible  surprise,  she  nods  her  head.]  Yes. 

Hobart. 

[Stroking  her  hair.]  Go  on,  my  dear. 


Laura. 

She  told  me  her  story — little  by  little, 
knew  the  beginning. 

Hobart. 


I  do  know  it. 


Oh,  if  you  only 


Laura. 

[Amazed.]  You  do!  What  do  you  mean? 


Hobart. 

When  you  have  finished - 


Laura. 

What  more  shall  I  tell  you?  Walter,  what  is  to  become 
of  her?  She  is  going  away.  Where  to?  She  couldn’t,  or 
wouldn’t,  tell.  But,  surely,  there  must  be  some  one  to  ad¬ 
vise.  As  that  thought  came  to  me,  with  it  came  the 
thought  of  the  mother  whom  she  needed,  and  I  thought  of 
my  mother.  What  should  I  be  without  her?  What  if  she 
would  take  her  mother’s  place !  Oh,  if  I  could  only  bring 
this  about!  If  you,  Walter,  could  help  me.  And  you  will! 
For  with  all  your  cool,  discerning  brain,  you  are  my  true 
and  gallant  lover,  with  a  warm,  tender  heart  that  you  may 
conceal,  but  you  can’t  disown !  And  I  want  your  head  and 
your  heart  both — for  there  is  a  life’s  happiness  in  the  bal¬ 
ance.  [She  finishes,  pleadingly,  in  his  arms.] 

Hobart. 

My  brave  little  girl !  How  can  I  resist  you !  You  have 


118 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


captured  my  love  and  my  logic  in  one  raid.  [Caressing 
her.]  Now  let’s  figure  this  thing  out  together.  You  seem 
to  attach  great  importance  to  the  meeting  of  Rosamond 
with  your  mother. 

Laura. 

Surely. 

Hobart. 

Who  shall  agree,  when  doctors  disagree?  Not  that  I’m 
going  to  oppose  that  idea;  on  the  contrary.  But  in  all  en¬ 
terprises  of  life  the  greater  absorbs  the  less.  I  am  going 
to  bring  about  an  even  more  vital  meeting.  You  and  I 
shall  assist  destiny.  How  does  that  strike  you? 

Laura. 

It  sounds  wonderful ! 

Hobart. 

I,  too,  had  an  early  morning  visitor.  And  I  am  in  a 
better  position  to  understand  the  true  import  of  your  story, 
from  having  heard  both  sides  of  it. 

Laura. 

Why — Walter — what - 


Hobart. 

Sh-h-h.  [Silencing  her  with  a  little  comic  pantomime 
directed  towards  the  bedroom.]  Don’t  let  us  wake  the 
god  out  of  the  machine  before  his  time.  [She  expresses 
amazement.]  Listen.  You  are  to  bring  the  party  in  ques¬ 
tion  to  a  meeting  with  your  mother,  at  this  hotel.  Can 
you  do  it? 

Laura. 

Why,  she  is  waiting  for  a  word  from  me  over  the  phone. 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Hobart. 

Send  her  that  word.  [As  she  starts.]  But  wait  a  mo¬ 
ment.  You  don’t  know  yet  how  we  are  going  to  assist 
destiny.  These  are  your  mother’s  rooms — that  is  to  say, 
they  become  so  in  this  instance — for  destiny’s  express  pur¬ 
pose.  Do  you  begin  to  grasp  my  idea?  How  many  min¬ 
utes  is  the  distance  to  be  traveled? 

Laura. 

Not  more  than  five. 

Hobart. 

Destiny  is  in  luck!  Npw  you  can  summon  your  party 
of  the  first  part.  Do  so  in  the  office  downstairs  [with  pan¬ 
tomime,  as  before],  for  obvious  reasons.  Meet  her  below, 
and  bring  her  up  here.  Then  Destiny  can  take  the  case 
into  her  own  hands  and  dismiss  her  understudies.  You 
will  join  me  in  Room  74,  where  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you 
[with  a  twinkle]  with  mother.  And  as  a  final  postscript 
— should  there  be  anything  unforeseen  to  add  to  these  ar¬ 
rangements,  I  will  leave  a  note  for  you  on  this  table.  [De¬ 
dicates  it.] 

[Laura  kisses  him,  with  much  enthusiasm,  and  goes 
out.] 

Hobart. 

[Left  alone  for  a  moment,  scratches  his  head  in  thought. 
Then  he  gets  alarm  clock,  and  brings  it  with  him  to  table, 
sits  and  scribbles  on  a  card  which  he  attaches  to  the  clock. 
As  he  starts  for  bedroom,  knock  is  heard  at  door.] 

Hobart. 

Come ! 


120 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


[ENTER  Mrs.  Winfield-Chase.] 

[Hobart  rises.] 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Pardon  me,  Walter,  but  Mr.  Langhorn  said  I  should 
find  Laura  with  you. 

Hobart. 

You  must  have  passed  her  in  the  elevator.  You  will 
probably  find  her  in  your  room  by  the  time  you  return. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

From  his  account,  he  must  have  been  looking  for  her  in 
the  most  extraordinary  places.  I  should  have  thought  he 
would  have  come  here  first. 

Hobart. 

One  would  have  thought  so.  When  you  return  to  your 
room,  I  should  like  the  pleasure  of  accompanying  you. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Oh,  thank  you  so  much.  I  do  want  to  talk  with  you. 

Hobart. 

Oh,  it’s  a  very  simple  thing.  But  will  you  pardon  me 
while  I  take  this  clock  into  the  next  room  ?  It  won’t  take  a 
minute.  Then  I  shall  be  entirely  at  your  service.  [Goes 
off  with  the  clock  into  the  bedroom ,  and  returns  at  once.] 
Now  I  am  ready. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

It’s  a  singular  coincidence,  but  do  you  recall,  Walter, 
that  yesterday  Laura  insisted  on  the  resemblance  of  a  cer¬ 
tain  person  to  a  friend  of  ours  in  Washington? 


121 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Hobart. 

Yes. 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  the  mother  of  this 
very  friend.  It  contains  some  remarkable  information. 
Would  you  care  to  see  it?  [Producing  letter.] 

Hobart. 

Thank  you.  [She  hands  him  the  letter.  He  scans  it.] 
May  I  keep  it  for  a  while? 

Mrs.  Winfield-Chase. 

Yes,  if  you  like.  I  should  like  to  talk  it  over  with  you. 

Hobart. 

Shall  we  go  below?  [She  nods.  Going  to  the  door,  he 
opens  it  for  her.]  I  will  join  you  in  a  second. 

[She  goes  through  the  door,  he  hurries  hack  to  the  table, 
previously  indicated,  and  lays  the  letter  he  has  just  re¬ 
ceived  on  it  conspicuously ;  then  follows  Mrs.  Winfield- 
Chase  off.] 

[A  slight  pause.] 

[The  alarm  clock  goes  off  in  the  adjoining  room .  Not 
too  long.  Then  a  pause.] 

[Voice  of  Ford,  as  if  talking  to  himself .] 

Ford. 

It’s  God’s  own  sunlight. 

[He  is  supposed  to  have  awakened  and  found  the  note  on 
the  clock.] 

[Another  pause.] 

[During  this  pause,  music  from  the  hotel  orchestra  is 
heard  playing  the  melody  of  previous  act.] 


122 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


[After  a  reasonable  space  of  time ,  voices  of  Laura  and 
Rosamond  are  heard  outside  hall  door.] 


Laura. 

[Outside.]  Here  we  are. 

[ENTER  Laura,  followed  by  Rosamond,  veiled.] 


Laura. 

Mother  will  join  us  in  a  minute.  [She  immediately 
goes  to  table  and  finds  letter.  She  scans  it  quickly,  and 
decides  at  once  what  to  do  with  it.]  [Rosamond  has  re¬ 
moved  her  veil.] 

Laura. 

Here  is  something  that  may  interest  you.  [Hands  letter 
to  Rosamond,  who  is  seated,  and  as  the  latter  opens  it, 
during  which  action  a  printed  slip  falls  out  on  the  floor, 
Laura  silently  withdraws  from  the  room.] 

[Rosamond  picks  up  the  slip,  and  reads  it  with  emo¬ 
tion.  She  reads  the  letter  through,  then  wipes  a  tear  from 
her  eyes,  and  is  lost  in  thought.] 

[ENTER  Ford,  with  Hobart’s  card  in  his  hand.] 


Rosamond ! 


Ford. 


Rose. 

[Surprised,  rises  quickly.]  You — you 


Ford. 

[In  excitement.]  He  told  me  the  truth!  He  said  you 
would  come ! 

Rose. 

[In  bewilderment.]  What  do  you  mean?  Where  is  Mrs. 
Winfield-Chase  ? 


123 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Ford. 

What  do  I  know — and  what  do  I  care!  I  wake  from  a 
dream  to  find  the  dream  come  true. 

Rose. 

But  I  am  to  meet  Laura’s  mother  here! 

Ford. 

Here,  in  Hobart’s  rooms? 

Rose. 

These  are  Hobart’s  rooms? 

Ford. 

Yes.  Didn’t  you  know  ?  He  left  me  this  note.  I  didn’t 
quite  grasp  it  when  I  read  it.  It  speaks  of  assisting  des¬ 
tiny  by  letting  you  believe  you  were  going  to  meet  Laura’s 
mother.  I  understand  it  now!  It  was  to  give  me  the 
glorious  chance  of  seeing  you  again! 

Rose. 

He  did  this!  He — Hobart — by  what  miracle? 

Ford. 

We  had  neither  of  us  understood  his  nature.  It  has 
more  than  a  practical  side,  begotten  by  his  craft— he  is  full 
of  a  high  purpose,  like  all  who  have  loved  and  suffered 
— like  us.  Rosamond,  I  told  him  of  what  I  had  lived 
through  since  last  night.  And  this  is  his  answer.  He  has 
brought  you  to  me. 

Rose. 

And  did  you  wish  it? 

Ford. 

It  is  a  prayer  fulfilled. 


124 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 


Rose. 

[In  sweet  amazement.]  Your  prayer  fulfilled? 


Mine. 


Ford. 


Rose. 

But  we  did  part — we  parted — in  farewell! 


Ford. 

No — not  in  farewell,  for  [with  deep  feeling]  I  love  you. 


Rose. 

[Moved.]  You  love  me? 


Ford. 

I  know  it  now.  Through  the  hours  of  self-questioning 
that  have  passed  since  I  held  you  in  my  arms,  my  heart 
has  beaten  but  one  response.  I  love  you.  I  love  you.  [He 
attempts  to  take  her  in  his  arms.] 


Rose. 

[With  a  vague  fear.]  Do  you  know  that  it  is  love? 

Ford. 

If  it  is  not,  why  should  I  fear  to  lose  you?  And  oh, 
Rosamond,  if  I  should  fail  to  kindle  in  your  heart  the  true 
passion  that  is  in  mine - 

Rose. 

[With  throbbing  fervor.]  Fail!  Did  you  not  hear  my 
soul’s  cry  when  you  left  me !  It  seemed  as  if  the  very 
winds  of  heaven  must  carry  it  to  you.  If  it  was  not  love 
that  I  offered  you  last  night — in  God’s  name,  what  was  it, 
then? 


125 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY. 

Ford. 

Then  you  are  mine!  Now  and  forever!  To  have  and 
to  hold  till  death  us  do  part. 

Rose. 

[In  real  transport .]  Ah!  If  it  only  could  be! 

Ford. 

It  can  be — it  shall  be — and  on  any  altar  you  may  choose ! 

Rose. 

[Her  face  illumined .]  Oh,  my  own!  I  could  not  let 
you  make  the  sacrifice ! 

Ford. 

What  sacrifice  can  /  make,  greater  than  you  have  made? 
Over  the  road  of  sorrow  we  have  journeyed  towards  each 
other.  There  were  two  zealots,  wandering  through  the 
thorns  of  separate  paths,  bruising,  scourging,  torturing 
their  flesh.  They  meet — they  gaze  into  each  other’s  eyes 
— and  they  fall  to  healing  each  other’s  wounds. 

[A  pause.] 

Rose. 

But  when  the  fervor  of  our  romance  has  died.  In  the 
harvest  time  of  reason.  In  the  days  to  come? 

Ford. 

The  harvest  time  of  reason  is  now.  You,  who  in  spite 
of  heredity,  temptation,  environment,  all  those  false  beliefs 
that  make  for  weakness  and  wrong — can  bring  as  your 
dowry  that  strength  of  character  that  has  kept  you  pure — 
you  can  have  no  fears  for  the  days  to  come.  And  of  your 
strength  you  shall  give  me  a  share. 


126 


CHILDREN  OF  DESTINY . 


Rose. 

Strength !  Oh,  my  darling — see !  [She  is  weeping.] 
This  is  all  the  strength  I  have.  But  these  are  tears  of  a 
great  joy.  And  see,  sweetheait — my  new  life  is  beginning 
with  a  happy  omen.  This  letter  came  to-day— it  is  from 
my  mother.  My  fa — her  husband  died  many  months  ago. 
Read  this  printed  slip,  which  the  letter  contained.  [She 
finds  it,  and  hands  it  to  him.] 

Ford. 

[Reads.]  “Married  at  Washington,  on  June  ist,  the 
Count  Laurento  di  Varesi,  to  Isabelle,  widow  of  the  late 
Richard  Hamlin.”  [He  is  impressed.  He  looks  at  her 
with  deep  feeling.  She  responds  to  his  gaze  with  tranquil 
happiness,  goes  to  him,  lays  her  head  on  his  breast.  He 
kisses  her  as  the  curtain  falls.] 

[End  of  the  Play.] 


127 


SAVOY  THEATRE,  Beginning 

MONDAY,  FEB.  21 

Matinees  Thursday  and  Saturday,  2.30  P.  M. 

Evenings  8.30 


HEPSRY  B.  HARRIS  Presents 

A  New  Play  in  Four  Acts  entitled 

GHILDREN  OF  DESTUH’’ 

By  Sydney  Rosenfeid 


CHARACTERS 


(Named  in  the  order  in  which  they  appear) 


Mrs.  Pochard  Hamlin 
Mrs.  Winfield  Chase 
Laura,  her  daughter .  . 

fkose  Hamlin  . 

Maid . 

Count  di  Varesi . 

Fred  Garvin  . 

VValter  Hobart . 

Edwin  Ford . 

Julius  Langhorn . 

Waiter . 


.  Dorothy  Dorr 
Ida  Darling 
Virginia  Pearson 
.Laura  Nelson  Hall 
.  Helen  Hilton 
Frank  Keicher 
.Theodore  Friebus 
Frederick  Truesdell 
Orrin  Johnson 
.  Harry  Davenport 
.George  A.  Wright 


ACT  I. — Boudoir  of  Mrs.  Hamlin,  Washington,  D.  C. 

ACT  II.— One  year  later.  Cafe  des  Americains,  Nice, 

France. 

ACT  III. — The  same  night.  " Rosamond's  Bower.”  Villa 
at  Monte  Carlo. 

ACT  IV.— The  next  morning.  Hobart's  rooms  at  the 
hotel.  Monte  Carlo. 


Seats  may  be  reserved  by  ’Phone 
5351  Murray  Hill 

Special  Matinee  Washington’s  Birthday 


DESTINY 


“The  Moving  Finger  writes:  and,  having  writ. 
Moves  on  •  nor  all  your  Piety  nor  Wit 
Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  Line. 


Nor  all  vour  Tears  wash  out  a  Word  of  it." 

•  > 


Illggg 


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DESTINY 

‘  Ere  Suns  and  Moons  could  wax  and  wane 
Ere  Stars  were  thunder  girt  or  piled 
The  heavens.  Cod  thought  on  me  His  child: 

Ordained  a  life  for  me,  arrayed 
Its  circumstances  every  one 
To  the  minutest.' 


STORY  OF  THE  PLAY 


The  story,  briefly,  is  that  of  a  young  Washington 
girl,  who,  having  attained  her  twenty-first  birth¬ 
day,  learns  from  her  fiancee  that  there  is  a  cloud 
upon  her  parentage,  and  the  engagement  is  broken 
off.  This  blow  is  struck  in  a  most  cowardly  man¬ 
ner  at  the  height  of  her  most  complete  happiness. 
Discarded  by  her  lover,  she  is  seized  with  such 
torture  of  mind,  that  in  an  outburst  to  her  mother 
she  exclaims:  “Since  the  world  has  cast  me  off, 
what  life  is  there  that  such  as  I  can  live?  They 
have  written  my  doom  in  a  clear  hand.”  The  end 
of  the  first  act  discloses  this  beautiful  young  girl, 
deliberately  announcing  her  intention  of  finding  a 
place  among  those  ‘  ‘  who  sell  their  beauty  in  the 
marketplace.”  She  goes  abroad.  The  money  she 
has  acquired  under  singular  circumstances,  related 
in  the  first  act,  enables  her  to  shine  with  splen¬ 
dor  in  the  half-world  into  which  she  has  been 
ushered  The  scene  shifts  to  the  Riviera.  The 
fame  of  the  fair  Rosamond,  for  by  that  name  she  is 
now  known,  has  traveled  far  and  wide,  and  men 
of  rank  and  wealth  are  in  her  train.  Running 
parallel  with  the  life  of  Rosamond,  one  of  the 
‘children  of  destiny,’  appears  Edwin  Ford,  who 
who  is  haunting  the  fascinating  halls  of  vice  that 
abound  in  Monte  Carlo.  He  too  has  had  a  sting¬ 
ing  heartache.  He  too  has  thrown  his  career  to 
the  winds,  and  seeks  in  drink  and  dissipation,  for¬ 
getfulness  of  his  early  sorrows.  Not  knowing  each 
other’s  previous  history,  but  drawn  together  by  a 
subtle  kinship  of  unspoken  sorrow,  both  possessing 
physical  charm  out  of  the  ordinary,  these  two  peo¬ 
ple — children  of  destiny — meet. 

This  condition  brings  out  dramatic  situations 
and  complications,  and  develops  a  modern  drama 
on  new  and  unique  lines,  with  a  powerful  moral 
uplift. 


